The Lion's Den
by Shakespira
Summary: For Leonie "Lion" Caron, killing the Architect was only the first step in unlocking the mystery of her own blood, a mystery that some would prefer remain secret. Takes place after Awakening.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: **_This is the third installment of Leonie Caron's adventures and begins one week after the Architect's death. While it is not necessary to read __**The Lion of Orlais**__ or __**The Heart of the Lion**__, it will help clarify certain aspects of the story._

**Friends and Strangers**

Covered in soot and dirt, hair a tangled mess, Leonie wearily made her way to her room where a bath awaited. She had spent the entire day helping clear the debris away from the curtain walls so that Voldrik could begin the repairs.

In the week since the attack on the Vigil, they had all worked nonstop to repair the damage to the Keep, but it would be a very long process. And the smell. Andraste's grace, she was tired of the stench of burning darkspawn corpses. The smell permeated everything and no matter how often she washed, she could still smell it in her clothes, feel it on her skin like a thin, slimy layer of ash.

Her muscles let her know she had overdone it. She was tired; down to her bones and spirit, exhausted. As she gratefully lowered her body into the water, a long sigh escaped her. It was not a sound of satisfaction as the warm water began to loosen aching muscles. It was a sound of discontent.

There were so many things to do that she was unable to concentrate on the those things she wanted to do; read the Architect's journal, uncover what might lay dormant in her own blood, rebuild the ranks of the Ferelden Grey. But there was so much to do around the arling, so many people to house and feed that her own wants seem to fall by the wayside.

She slapped at the bath water in frustration. Her whole life had been spent in the company of Grey Wardens. She had wanted to be a Grey Warden from the time she could walk. And now, suddenly, she was questioning her decision. She felt the slow crawl of anger working along her tired muscles, tightening them, coiling them. What other secrets were locked away in the archives at Weisshaupt? Grey Wardens, she had learned, became darkspawn and not the ghouls she had been always been told they became if they didn't go on their Calling early enough. She shivered as she remembered the Architect's chilling words.

In preparing her report to Weisshaupt, she found she was withholding information from them. She hadn't told them about the journal. She hadn't mentioned that it had seemed too easy to kill the Architect. It shouldn't have been that simple, not after so many years of being tormented by him. Was there something she was missing? Something she had failed to understand? Had Svanar Fryklund actually wanted to die? So many questions that she couldn't answer, partly because she was too busy overseeing an arling she was not suited to run, and partly because she was too occupied with rebuilding Amaranthine and Vigil's Keep.

Groaning, she stood up and wrapped her bathsheet around her. Over the past two years everything in her life had changed and there were times when she felt she had somehow lost herself in all the changes. There were times when she looked in the mirror and didn't recognize the stranger looking back at her. Maybe what she was seeing in the mirror was a metamorphosis from arrogant youthfulness to reasoned maturity. Or maybe she saw only a ghost of who she had been, now lost to the responsibilities of being Warden Commander of the Grey of Ferelden or Arlessa Leonie.

Sometimes, and especially when she as both physically and mentally exhausted, she felt like she was caught between her former life and her present one; somehow a stranger to both. Someone who didn't quite belong to either, but drifted between them. Frustrated, Leonie turned away from that stranger in the mirror. There were no answers there, only more questions.

She pulled on a plain amber colored wool dress and tied an equally plain black girdle around her waist. She slipped a folded letter into the pocket of her gown and felt the tug of a smile at her mouth. Trying to figure out who she no longer was orwho she was becoming wouldn't feed her, she reflected wryly. She made her way quickly downstairs and to the dining hall to the sound of her growling stomach.

Her Wardens were gathered around a small table set back from the long trestles where the soldiers sat to eat. That small table was known by all as the Wardens' Roost, reserved only for Wardens by silent agreement. Leonie paused in the doorway feeling almost as though she were a stranger, suddenly nervous to enter, which was ridiculous, she knew. Yet she hesitated. Her eyes fell on the group sitting at the Warden's Roost.

Anders, with his cheerful flirtatiousness and the strange seriousness behind his eyes, the man who had escaped the tower seven times and hid his emotions behind a façade of humor. Handsome and intelligent and every bit the healer Marcus had been. She knew nothing of him, how he had come to the tower, why he was a healer, what he did on his off time. He was special, she could see that in his manner, but she hadn't taken the time to find out what made him special. He was still a mystery, a stranger.

Beside him, giggling at something he was saying, was Sigrun. Every bit as cheerful as Anders but in an innocent, wide eyed way, as if the world was a wonderful new toy and she was still exploring its mysteries. But there were stories hidden in her, stories of a life as a Duster, of a nickname that she no longer used, of a back crisscrossed with the scars of repeated floggings. She and Sigrun were the dead women walking, a strange connection between them that had been immediate and deep, yet Leonie knew so little of Sigrun's past. Another familiar stranger.

Across from Sigrun, wearing his habitual serious expression, was Nathaniel, the Howe who was restoring the honor of his family with his own brand of honor and nobility. Dark and brooding, his pale grey eyes missed nothing and hid everything. She knew no more about him than she did the others even though they were living in his old home. She knew his father, whom he had respected and admired, had died a monster. Had he been a monster to the Howe children? Had Nathaniel suffered at his hands? He was a friend, and yet, unknown to her.

Tamra, the beautiful young knight who had shown such courage in exposing a plot to kill Leonie, sat beside Nathaniel. Now a Warden, soon to be Nathaniel's wife, she was one of the few people who had the power to pull Nathaniel out of his brooding. She had a radiance of spirit, a graceful charm that hid the powerful strength of the warrior inside her. Leonie admired her, enjoyed her company, but knew less about her than any of her Wardens.

Sipping quietly from a mug, Varel was listening to the chatter around him, absorbing it with a quiet dignity that spoke of years of experience and wisdom. He was their honorary Warden, a father to Leonie, a counselor, a solid, steadying presence in her chaotic life. She could not run the arling without his guidance, would not want to even if she could. He was her confidante, her conscience in some ways and almost a part of the very stone of the Keep.

Alistair was not there. He still wasn't comfortable around all of them, especially Loghain. His guilt at killing Vixen, even though he claimed he had only meant to take her horse hostage as a means of punishing Leonie, continued to weigh heavily on him. He said he remembered little of those days and Leonie believed him, he had reeked of alcohol and despair when she had woken up in his hovel. He was still coming to terms with how low he had fallen after he'd walked out on the eve of battling the Archdemon. Someday, she truly hoped, he would find himself, find what Duncan had seen in him, what she had seen as he had fought beside her in the Architect's lair. But grief and betrayal had taken their toll on a young man whose only father figure had been taken away from him too soon. Oddly, she found she knew more about Alistair than her other Wardens, Duncan's legacy, she knew. Perhaps that was why she had been so quick to forgive Alistair, she had known how much Duncan cared for him. She thought sadly that she would have to find a different Warden family for him, as much as she hated the thought. He was a link to Duncan, a part of Duncan's past and she was reluctant to lose that.

And then Loghain, sitting slightly apart from the others, looked up and saw her as she stood poised on the threshold. He had been saving a spot for her; she realized that was why he sat slightly apart from the others. Her heartbeat quickened as their eyes met. Although many would not notice the subtle changes in his demeanor, Leonie did. She saw the softening in his cool blue eyes, saw the tension in his shoulders ease, saw the corners of his lips curl upward almost imperceptibly. The odd sensation of being a stranger faded as a smile curved along her lips and the odd vicissitude, the feeling of being caught between her old life and her new one, was dispelled by the warmth of her friends enveloping her.

"Hey, Lion, we were just talking about you," Anders greeted her with a devilish glint in his eyes.

She settled between Loghain and Varel, sitting close enough to Loghain that she could feel his thigh brush against hers, further anchoring her to this new life of hers.

"Indeed, Anders? Do I wish to know what it is you are discussing?" she asked as she reached for a crusty roll.

"Most definitely not," Nathaniel interjected with a smirk.

"I suspected as much," she replied knowingly, giving Anders a glare that he promptly ignored.

"Oh," she continued, reaching in the pocket of her dress and withdrawing a folded slip of vellum. "I have had word from Weisshaupt on Padric Howe," she continued, handing the vellum to Nathaniel. She watched as he quickly unfolded the letter. His grey eyes scanned the lines and a slow smile lit his somber features.

"Well? What's it say?" Sigrun prodded, elbows propped on the table and chin in hands, as she leaned forward eagerly.

Nathaniel glanced up from the letter and his smile grew. "According to their records, he took his Joining in Cumberland. He survived, but died two days later during a darkspawn raid outside the city. He was responsible for saving a family. They are contacting the Nevarran Wardens to see if they have any other information," he explained, his voice a mixture of pride and wonderment.

"He would be very proud of you, Nathaniel," Leonie told the young man with conviction.

After dinner, she told them all to meet in her office the following morning after breakfast and then asked Varel to make sure Alistair got the message before she excused herself. The melancholy had lifted finally and she found sleep was whispering a soft invitation. Climbing the stairs, she felt Loghain beside her.

"Your bruises appear almost healed, Loghain. Although those that remain are certainly an interesting patchwork. There is one, just along your left cheek, that looks almost like a Mabari," Leonie teased as she turned down the hall towards her bedroom.

"Only a romantic _child_ would see shapes in bruises," he remarked dryly and she gave him an impudent smile. "I suppose you look at clouds to divine animals as well?"

"I _am _a romantic, I freely admit such. I believe that would be the Orlesian in my blood. It counterbalances your very prosaic Fereldan nature, yes?"

Loghain's huff of laughter was a surprising sound, sweet and low in her ears, as they entered her room. He leaned against the closed door, his brow quirked. A question. Leonie felt disinclined to respond until he gave voice to it. He seemed disinclined to do so.

"The question now becomes, which of us is the more stubborn?" she finally said with a wry smile. "I have been told, by you as I recall, that never a more stubborn creature existed in all of Thedas than Leonie Caron. It would seem you are correct," she concluded, hands on hips.

"That was hardly intended as a compliment, madam," he replied, brow rising.

"Be that as it may, I intend to take it as such," she replied, unwinding the long cords of her girdle and placing them on her vanity table.

Loghain shook his head and pushed himself away from the door, moving slowly toward her. "Definitely not enough discipline as a child," he remarked, his voice deeper as he slanted his mouth over hers. Leonie's wish for him to give voice to his question was driven from her thoughts.

"Stay," she finally whispered when his lips had finished their sweetly devouring pursuit of hers.

There was a smug smirk on Loghain's lips when he stepped back and started removing his shirt. "Although I am sorely tempted to increase the number of your bruises," she added, coming to help him. She reached up and began to unwind his braids, her fingers quick and deft in his dark locks.

"I invite you to try," he challenged, little more than a growl against her neck as he nipped at it.

Leonie forgot everything else, finding a growing need building as her blood was ignited by his wandering lips.

* * *

Morning came with a shriek of winds and she jerked awake with an exclamation that was as incoherent as it was loud. Loghain was quietly dressing. He raised a brow at her, not bothering to hide his enjoyment at her expense.

"I need the glazier to come and put in the new window," she grumbled, kicking back the covers and coming to Loghain.

Reaching up, she carefully began to braid his hair and he stopped lacing his shirt, his eyes closed. She watched as his face relaxed. She loved to see him like that, the tight strain around his eyes and mouth washed away by a look of contentment, unguarded moments so infrequent that they were a rare and precious gift.

With a quick meeting of lips, he was gone and she was alone, but no longer feeling like a stranger in her own life.

Leonie quickly strapped into her Warden leathers and hurried downstairs, heading for her office. Aura had learned to have a tray waiting for her because Leonie was invariably late for her own meetings. Her Wardens were filtering in one by one and she wolfed down her breakfast, scalding her tongue on the hot tea.

Before Leonie had a chance to begin the meeting, they heard the watchtower guards announcing travelers approaching the Keep. Varel came in and said, "Ten horsemen and an ox cart, Commander. They are flying the banner of the Grey," he added, his voice unusually restrained.

Grey Wardens? Ten horsemen? That sounded vaguely familiar. She searched her memory and, with a mental groan at her absent mindedness, remembered Didier's letter, received just before they had gone to Amaranthine to bring down Esmerelle. It was still in her desk drawer. With a growing dread, she realized she had never told anyone that Orlesian Wardens were on their way. Maker, Loghain would be furious and Varel was no doubt hurt to have not been told.

The Wardens were filing out of her office and she followed them, trying to catch up to Loghain. They gathered at the bottom of the steps. She opened her mouth to speak to Loghain but was interrupted by the newly arrived Wardens.

"The Grey Wardens of Orlais have heard their sister's call! We bring assistance and greetings from Warden Commander Didier of the Grey of Orlais!"

Leonie's heart began a steady banging in her chest and tears began to run, unchecked and unnoticed. Her friends, her former colleagues had traveled overland to bring her aid.

"The Grey Wardens of Ferelden greet their brothers from Orlais and bid them welcome!" she returned the standard greeting formally but her voice shook in her excitement. Her mind and heart were torn. She needed to say something to Loghain, she wanted to run to old comrades, a swell of homesickness nearly robbing her of breath.

"Lion! Come give your beloved a kiss!" a teasing voice, a beloved voice, was shouting and her heart leapt in her throat.

"Laurent!" she cried in response, moving to greet him. He pulled her to him, bending her back in a dancer's embrace.

"Shall we give these provincials a show?" he whispered and she laughed, slapping at him to let her up.

"Maker, Laurent! It is good to see you, my old friend," she said in a voice thickened by memories of a life nearly forgotten.

"You don't remember me, I'm sure," Teodar said, swinging down from his saddle with a faint smile lurking in his steady grey eyes. Her tears still streaming, she clasped him to her and he blushed, as quiet as ever.

"Greetings, Commander," Shaniel said with a wave. She smiled up at the young elf mage with his ever seeking violet eyes, still looking around his new surroundings with the wonder of a newly released tower mage.

"Shaniel, do you still whistle?" she couldn't help but ask, bowing to him. He grinned and whistled an old Orlesian folk song. Tears continued their descent down her cheeks.

"Lady Leonie," Astrid greeted, climbing down from an ox cart.

"Maker's mercy! Oh Astrid, still you call me Lady Leonie!" Leonie admonished and went to hug her former maid. The young woman smiled in delight. Leonie was nearly overcome by the shock of seeing so many from her old life.

"It seems Ferelden suits you, Lady Leonie. You are looking quite happy despite your tears," Astrid greeted shyly, bobbying a curtsy.

Her Wardens were slowly making their way down the steps to greet their fellow Wardens. Except Loghain, who was standing apart, stiff and cold, his eyes an accusation that cut right through Leonie like a sharpened blade. She went up the stairs to him and met his look.

"I am sorry, Loghain. In all the excitement, I forgot to mention this," she said quietly, her voice even but she was silently entreating him to overlook it, to take her arm and walk her down so he could meet her old Warden family.

"An odd greeting for a Warden. I will assume that is an Orlesian greeting," he replied coldly and moved stiffly down the stairs, every bit the military general. Leonie felt the need to both stamp her foot and shake her head. Instead, she found herself equally stiff and straight as she made her way to her Wardens.

The introductions were a loud and boisterous event until Leonie moved to introduce Loghain. Then it became entirely too quiet.

"The is Warden Loghain, my Second," she began and the silence was broken only by the sound of impatient hooves stamping at the ground.

"Loghain _Mac Tir_?" Laurent asked, a wicked gleam in his eye.

Leonie felt anger begin to seep in, replacing both her joy at seeing old friends and her contrition at having hurt Loghain. She would have to choose her words very carefully, she knew. If Loghain suspected she was defending him, or her decision to make him her Second, he would be further incensed. As it was she wasn't sure how long he would be angry at her, she only knew he was. Very.

"Laurent, as a Warden of _long _years, you know very well we do not mention last names or pasts if they are not offered," she chastised. Laurent shot her a glance full of surprise and then a knowing gleam came into his eyes. He then looked at Loghain, his eyes traveling up and down Loghain's tall frame. Sizing him up, Leonie thought in disgust. Typical male behavior that was beneath her old friend. Loghain did not help, his look of utter disdain so haughty and arrogant it made Leonie's teeth ache and hands itch to pull both men aside by their ears and give them a scolding.

"As you say, Commander. Forgive my…impertinence," Laurent said with a cheeky smile at her.

She inclined her head. "You are forgiven Laurent," she replied softly but there was no mistaking the edge in her voice, the _warning_.

Varel was directing soldiers in the unloading of the supplies and Teodar was staring around, curious but not speaking. His eyes met hers and she saw in them a warm approval and she felt the tension begin to ease from her.

"Come inside, all of you, and we shall catch up," she invited, ushering them up the steps to the great hall.

"But Lion, you're forgetting Warden customs," Laurent chided, shaking his head with another bold grin.

Leonie stiffened, swallowing an urge to let her growing hysteria out in a scream of frustration. Her morning had started out so perfectly and now it was just continuing to slide into an unholy morass. She gave Laurent a chastising glare, which he ignored.

The Grey Warden custom he could only be referring to was known as the Challenge of Brothers, a series of duels and field maneuvers called whenever Grey Wardens of different nations gathered. An old and barbaric custom, in Leonie's estimation. One that would no doubt give her a massive headache. Or two, she thought sourly, looking at Loghain, who was still staring at Laurent with icy disdain in his eyes. Her eyes moved to Laurent, who was looking triumphant and rather smug. She bit back a sigh that was building deep in her stomach.

"Maker's mercy, Laurent, you have only just arrived. There will be time for such foolish barbarism tomorrow," she finally said caustically, having no choice but to accept the visiting country's declaration of intent.

She stood watching as her Wardens and the Orlesian Wardens continued mingling, strangers slowly becoming friends. Except for two very proud and very different men.

Leonie wondered if she could slink upstairs, crawl into bed, and start her day again.


	2. Chapter 2

**Challenges**

Glancing at Loghain surreptitiously, Leonie wondered what he was most angry about; Orlesians helping Fereldans, her neglecting to inform him of their arrival or Laurent's teasing nature. Laurent represented the cavalier, flirtatious Orlesian that seemed most irritating to Loghain's pragmatic and practical nature. While she sometimes found Laurent a bit too playful, she had spilled blood with him and she cared for him as a fellow Warden and warrior and, more importantly, as a friend. He had helped her through some very difficult times.

Loghain was holding himself stiff and remote but was not overtly unfriendly. If one didn't know him, they would see only a man with a military bearing, a soldier, a leader. They would probably not notice the tightness around his eyes or the way his jaw clenched from time to time. Anyone, however, who knew _of_ Loghain Mac Tir would understand that he abhorred all things Orlesian. Which is why Laurent was being particularly Orlesian, Leonie suspected. She was finding the temptation to put both men in a muddy field to fight in hand-to-hand combat harder and harder to resist.

"How is Didier?" she asked finally, breaking an awkward silence, one of many that had occurred during their tour. As if she had nothing better to do than placate two overgrown boys who were growling at each other in a language Leonie didn't entirely understand and most definitely didn't appreciate.

"He hopes that you will return to Orlais when his Calling comes, to become the Warden Commander of the Grey of Orlais," Laurent answered with a pointed look at Loghain. Loghain fixed him with a cool, detached stare, clearly letting Laurent know he was unimpressed. Leonie's temper heated to a slow simmer. Loghain had the power to quiet someone with a single word, just by the tone of his voice, yet he refused to at the moment, as if he somehow thought he was punishing her by not doing so.

"This is my home now, Laurent, as well Didier knows," Leonie responded calmly, a state she felt far from. Laurent was trying to goad Loghain through her and she was not happy about it, especially since Loghain seemed to have no interest in being goaded.

They were just returning from a tour of the training yard. Leonie had spent two hours responding to questions about the Architect, the sentient darkspawn and the Mother. Laurent had been morbidly curious about the Architect and found the thought of a talking Broodmother fascinating. He would not have been so keen on the subject had he endured the battles, she was sure. Even after a week of Anders' healing magic, her shoulder was still stiff and sore where a darkspawn had bitten her.

"Do you suppose, my lovely lioness, that there are other sentient darkspawn still out there?" he asked as they made their way into the Keep.

Leonie frowned thoughtfully. She was concerned about that very thing, she had no idea how far and wide the Architect had spread his particular madness. "There is always the chance of such a thing, Laurent. For the moment there is peace, and in peace, vigilance, yes?"

Laurent's mask of Orlesian courtier fell away and she saw only the concern of an old and much loved friend. "It must have been terrible, Leo. I'm truly happy that the Architect can no longer harm you," he said sincerely. She smiled softly at him. The handsome man with the dashing scars and wicked green eyes was there before her and she was touched by his genuine relief.

"Thank you, my friend. I admit that I have slept more soundly these past nights, knowing he is gone," she admitted, casting a quick glance at Loghain, who was standing nearby, expressionless, but she suspected he was watching and listening far more intently than his pose indicated. "I am lucky in my friends and fellow Wardens. They fought with valor and great courage," she added softly.

Laurent too looked at Loghain, a puckish smile lighting his face. "Hardly a surprise considering the _company_ you keep, my beautiful temptress," Laurent replied playfully. Leonie's hands twitched, the urge to pull his chestnut locks sharply and without mercy almost irresistible. He seemed unable to pass up an opportunity to jab at Loghain.

They made their way to her office. Loghain seated himself with comfortable familiarity in the chair nearest her desk, an eyebrow quirked. "What now?" it seemed to ask with its sardonic arch. She saw the faint curl of his lip, the sneer, and her desire to pull his hair just as sharply as Laurent's was making her fingers itch. She saw that he was angry in that cold, sarcastic way of his. She was no doubt the object of his ire.

She was spared any further need to keep the conversation moving along by Varel's timely arrival. Never had she wanted to hug him more than at that moment.

"Commander, we have allocated the north wing for our guests. Warden Laurent's room is ready. Perhaps he would like to freshen up?" Varel suggested with a perfect balance of deference and iron in his voice.

"A most excellent plan, Seneschal Varel," Laurent said with a grin and stood. He bowed formally before Leonie.

"Warden Commander Leonie, it is an honor to be a guest in your humble abode," he said with an ironic smile and with another bow directed at Loghain he followed Varel out.

"Out with it, Loghain. Let me know how incompetent an _Orlesian_ I am and be done with it," she said quietly as soon as the door closed behind Varel and Laurent. She found she was massaging her temples, a dull headache taking up residence behind her eyes.

He was silent for so long that Leonie finally looked up at him, to see he was pale and holding himself tightly together by sheer willpower. "You have no idea what the Orlesians did during the occupation," he began and then stopped, rubbing a weary hand across his forehead, as if trying to remove a painful memory.

"I do not. Nor shall I know until you trust me enough to share it with me," she reminded him, trying to keep her voice even. Why must he always blame her? She had not even been born during the occupation.

Loghain shook his head and stood up abruptly. "This is neither the time nor the place for a history lesson," he said coldly. "Let's just get through this Orlesian _invasion_."

Leonie didn't bother to hide her flinch. _She_ was Orlesian and while she knew he hated Orlais and all things Orlesian, she was hurt that he had so little regard for her feelings in the matter. It stung to have him speak of Orlesians in such scathing tones, it felt like he was slapping at her when he did it.

"Thorsen is from the Anderfels, he was a cousin to Narsden, whose armor you wear. Teodar is Nevarran. As to the others, they are Orlesian by birth certainly, but they are also Grey Wardens and deserving of our respect," she reminded with quiet authority.

A silence grew between them, a chasm of unspoken accusation and cold implacability, two stubborn, prideful people watching as the chasm widened.

"Do you find you suddenly care less for me because my Orlesian background is once again in the forefront of your mind, Loghain?" she asked, a challenge in her tone that she didn't try to hide. Had all their progress suddenly vanished in the face of the Orlesian invasion, as he called it?

Loghain stared at her with his pale blue eyes narrowed, as if considering the question seriously. Leonie felt dread seeping in, a chill that settled into her bones. She stood, her chin tilted proudly. She would be Maker damned if he would see how hurt she was by his silence. When he remained silent, she continued in a cool voice, "I will take the lack of response as a yes."

Moving to the fireplace, she carefully placed a log on the fire, watching the flurry of sparks as she settled the log on the glowing bed of embers. The day was turning grey, bleak and cold. But she would not allow his anger to ruin her enjoyment of seeing old friends. Wardens were a clannish lot. They held fast to their traditions and their friends. It would be good for her Wardens to see that, to experience that kind of bond. Even if Loghain was too proud and stubborn to appreciate it.

"The others will be here soon. I want to explain the Challenge of Brothers to them," she finally said, sitting down at her desk again. Loghain remained silent as they waited for the arrival of the other Wardens and she was grateful, for once, that he was such a reticent man. A fight was brewing, but as he had remarked earlier, now was not the time for such things.

Sigrun and Alistair arrived first, coming into the room on a note of warm laughter that seemed to clash with the chill in the room, but they seemed unaware of the coolness and settled into chairs, Alistair taking the one farthest from Loghain's. Anders arrived with Ser Pounce held tightly to his chest with one hand, an apple in the other. His grin was shared with the room at large as he plopped down in the chair nearest the fire. Nathaniel and Tamra followed shortly after and Nathaniel closed the door behind him before taking a seat on the settee next to Tamra. Varel, looking more beleaguered than normal, joined them.

"Tonight we shall indulge in a time honored tradition. It is called the Memorial Feast. It is a way to pay tribute to those who have joined their brothers and sisters in death. During the festivities, I would expect Laurent to make a formal Declaration of Intent and issue the Challenge of Brothers.

"The Challenge of Brothers is an ancient custom of the Wardens, to celebrate the fellowship of their shared blood. It is the right of the Wardens of a visiting nation to make such a declaration to their hosts. It is also up to them to determine just what those challenges are. They usually involve archery competitions, dueling, horse racing and often times there is a competition to see who can set up and break down a field camp in the shortest amount of time.

"This is a friendly rivalry, a chance to show off skills and abilities, but more importantly, it is a way to show that, though we are of different nations, our tainted blood and our sacred duty bind us together."

Leonie paused, smiling at her Wardens. "I am honored that you represent the Ferelden Greys and have every confidence that you will rise to the challenge," she concluded and stood up. "If there are no questions, you are dismissed."

Watching as they all filed out, she was not surprised to see Loghain join them. There seemed little to say. She quietly locked her desk drawer and put the key under the polished stone on her desk. She was in no mood to do paperwork now.

Sighing, she went in search of Aura to let her know about the feast. As the widow of a Warden, Aura was familiar with the customs and would know how to set up the tables and to have extra food and drink available. Leonie found she was not looking forward to the evening's festivities quite as much as she normally would and her ire at Loghain grew. _Insufferable man_.

Astrid was waiting for her in her room when she went up some hours later to change for dinner. Spread across her bed was her favorite gown, a rich deep sapphire velvet and silk, plain except for the small gilt embroidery of butterflies along the hem and cuffs. The neckline was modestly cut and edged with lace, as were the cuffs of the long, slightly puffed sleeves. The skirt, full and gracefully falling into folds, was made for dancing. It had been a very long time since Leonie had dressed in more than armor or serviceable clothes. Longer still since someone had pampered her with a bath and carefully coifed hair. The woman who stared back at her looked younger and softer, a woman she had forgotten existed underneath the heavy mantle of leadership she so often wore.

"I thought your lion pendent would be perfect, Lady Leonie, but I am unable to find it," Astrid apologized.

Leonie closed her eyes against an unexpectedly piercing pain of memory. She had given Duncan her pendent the last time she had seen him, confident that it would keep him safe and now it, like Duncan, was lost to her. The grief, so often just a soft sigh of pain in her heart, was sharp within her, closer to the surface than it had been for some time. Her challenge tonight would be to keep a smile on her lips and her eyes dry.

"It was lost," she said simply and gave Astrid a faint smile.

It was, no doubt, anger and hurt that colored her mood and she tried to shake her depressing thoughts from her as she made her way downstairs. Loghain's anger, and her hurt because of it, should not be allowed to control her mood and it was a determined and somewhat defiant Leonie that entered the dining hall.

The Wardens had all gathered and were taking their places as she stepped into the room and she made her way immediately to the main table. Seated to her right was Laurent, wearing dark green tunic and trousers, looking as rakish and dashing as ever. On his right was Loghain, dressed in a severe black tunic with a white collar and black breeches, austere and ruggedly handsome. Her heart gave a traitorous leap as he looked over at her, his blue eyes flaring slightly in surprise. She ignored her heart and sat down. On her left was an empty chair, representing those Wardens who had fallen, a reminder to all present of the sacrifices made by their brothers.

When all the Wardens had finally taken their seats, and their goblets had been charged, Leonie stood.

"I wish, first, to welcome our brother Wardens from Orlais and thank them for their generosity in reaching out a helping hand to us. It is received with great appreciation," she began and turned to Laurent. "Thank you brother," she added with a slight inclination of her head. He smiled at her and she found her mood becoming lighter.

"Beside me is an empty chair, a reminder that there are those who can no longer feast with their brothers and sisters. It is said that some day we shall join them. Until that day, we can honor their sacrifice through our sacred duty and with great vigilance as we protect the lands and people of Thedas.

"These brothers and sisters live in our hearts and minds eternally. They are as much a part of our blood as the taint that binds us all as one family.

"In death, sacrifice," she ended, raising her goblet. There was a brief pause before the sounds of chairs scraping against the wooden floor and the shuffling of people as they stood filled the hall.

"So say you, Leonie Caron, so say we all!" Laurent shouted. The cheer was taken up by her Wardens, both past and present, and they all raised their goblets to drink to their fallen comrades.

"And now we feast!" she announced and Aura, followed by several servants, came in with platters of food. The room became filled with the sound of Wardens talking and eating, their laughter sweet music in Leonie's ears as she sat watching the scene.

After the last plate had been cleared and the goblets and mugs refreshed with wine and ale, Laurent stood up. There was an almost lazy grace about him, a careless elegance, that many an Orlesian woman had found tempting. Leonie had never seen him in that light, he was just Laurent, a fellow Grey Warden. His affairs were legendary and it was claimed that even Empress Celene had taken him to bed on more than one occasion. He neither confirmed nor denied the rumor and Leonie had never had the courage to ask her cousin.

"As is my right as a guest of the Ferelden Greys, I hereby deliver my Declaration of Intent to call for a Challenge of Brothers. And Sisters," he added with a bold smile at Leonie.

Leonie stood and extended her hand and, rather than accepting the warrior's clasp she offered, Laurent brought it to his lips. Had the entire room not been watching, she would have yanked it back and hissed a warning at him. He was being deliberately provoking, challenging Loghain and it would do none of them any good should he succeed.

"As the Warden Commander of the Grey of Ferelden, I accept your Declaration of Intent and await your chosen challenges," she replied formally.

"I will meet with you on the morrow with those challenges and the appropriate forfeit for the losing side," he said and she saw the wicked gleam in his eyes. She had forgotten that part of the Declaration. No one had claimed forfeits from the vanquished side in years. It was like him to remember.

"As you say, Warden Laurent," she managed before sinking into her chair.

Wine and ale continued flowing freely and voices rang out in laughter and friendly challenges. Laurent was holding court with several of her Wardens and Leonie was sure he was telling them stories about her that were best forgotten. Loghain, on the other hand, was deep in discussion with Teodar. Maker knew what they were talking about.

"Lion, come and explain to these youngsters what an ogre dance is!" Laurent called across the room and Leonie groaned in sudden and acute embarrassment.

"I have no idea what you are speaking of, Laurent!" she replied archly and reached for her now empty goblet. Wine was not something she usually indulged in, not since Montran, but tonight might very well be an exception. She went in search of more.

"And I suppose I'll have to be the one who tells them about the winter wheat crop you decided to burn down to a mere stubble?" he asked loudly and that was followed by more laughter. She shook her head.

"You were the one who rode to warn the others, were you not? How could you know what I did or did not do?" she challenged, making her way to the group clustered around him.

"You don't think Shaniel and Teodar kept it quiet, do you?" he teased and she felt herself blushing.

"I never listen to idle gossip and exaggerated stories," she answered and as she walked away again, she heard his good natured laugh.

No doubt, she thought as she mingled with her fellow Wardens, she would be inundated with questions about her past exploits. She was not looking forward to it. Her Wardens already knew far more about her than she would like.

She finally made her way to Teodar and Loghain. Teodar gave her a warm smile and she stood close to him, the urge to ruffle his silver streaked hair very strong. She clasped her hands loosely in front of her, returning his smile. He was the kindest person she had ever worked with. Quiet and steady and intelligent and an archer whose only peer was Nathaniel. Perhaps it was only the very quiet who made good archers. She contemplated that as she half listened to the conversations flowing around her like water flowing over rocks.

"And now, it's time to dance!" Laurent called, motioning to Leonie. She snapped out of her thoughts with a thud.

"We have no music, Laurent, we cannot possibly dance," she argued but his grin was a challenge and Leonie found it nearly impossible to ignore that challenge.

"Leonie, we never had music in camp, yet we managed fine. Besides, Thorsen has his rebec with him."

"Then dancing we shall have," Leonie agreed, her mood becoming lighter as Thorsen began to tune his rebec.

It had been said of them before and would be said of them again. Grey Wardens, whose lives were often grim and short, knew how to have fun. Leonie and the others began to push the tables back, opening a large square. The Wardens formed a circle, all save Loghain and Teodar. She went to them, hands on hips.

"You are not afraid of dancing, are you?" she challenged. Loghain raised a brow and looked about to refuse but Teodar smiled.

"Afraid for others, perhaps," he admitted but went to join the group.

"Come, Loghain, you are not going to let _all_ of Laurent's challenges go unanswered, are you?" she asked softly, extending her hand. He stared at her, his expression cool but she saw a slight thaw in his eyes as he accepted her hand.

"This dance requires nimble, quick feet. It starts off slowly but becomes faster and faster. If you fumble or lose your step, you must leave the circle. We shall practice first, yes?" Leonie explained with a bright smile. "We call it the Nimble Jacques and you begin with three Chasse to the left followed by a right kick and a hop. You then move three Chasse to the right with a left kick and a hop. Then you move forward three steps, back three steps and begin again."

"What do we do with our hands?" Anders asked with a leer.

"Keep them where we can see them!" Shaniel called out and the room filled with laughter.

"You put them on the shoulders of the person to your left and to your right," Leonie finally answered when the laughter had subsided.

"What's a Chasse?" Sigrun asked. Her face was flushed and her eyes were sparkling. She was a Warden who knew how to have fun and Leonie was delighted to see her enjoying herself.

"A slip step, a gliding step like this," Laurent answered, demonstrating.

Leonie stood between Teodar and Loghain. She reached out and settled a hand on each of their shoulders. With a nod that they were ready, Thorsen began a slow, cheerful melody on his rebec.

"And we're off!" Laurent called and the circle moved to the left. The speed of the dance steadily increased and more and more fell out of the circle. Shaniel was the first to fumble, then Alistair. Soon it was down to Teodar, Nathaniel, remarkably light and nimble, Loghain and Leonie. The other Wardens were laughing and clapping in time to the music and the speed of the music and the small circle made Leonie dizzy but she kept a firm hold on Teodar and Loghain. She was laughing and breathless, her heart pounding with the exertion and she couldn't remember the last time she'd enjoyed herself so much, forgetting her hurt and anger, forgetting her worries, she was just a young woman having fun at a party.

Loghain finally fumbled and Leonie caught her toe in the heel of his shoe and she was out as well, nearly landing on her face. Standing on the sidelines, clapping with the others, her happiness was a warm, sweet breeze in her blood. She glanced at Loghain, who was not as unrestrained as the others, but he was less aloof and cool. She almost thought he smiled when Teodar finally stumbled and sent Nathaniel tumbling to the floor.

"And now, I invite you all to continue to enjoy the festivities, but I am in need of rest," Leonie announced and with a bright smile and wave, she headed for the stairs. Her smile grew as she heard Anders demand another try. Thorsen started playing again.

"Commander," Loghain said as she started up the stairs. She paused without turning around.

"Warden Logain?" she asked quietly. After a moment's silence she continued, "Was there something you wanted?"

"I merely wanted to congratulate you on a successful Memorial Feast," he finally said cooly. With great effort, Leonie kept her shoulders straight and her chin up.

"Thank you, Warden Loghain," she replied with equal coolness and continued up the stairs.

Her mother was right, pride made for a cold bed. It took a long time for Leonie to fall asleep.

In the morning, she discovered someone had been at her desk. The drawer where she kept her important papers was unlocked.

**A/N:** _A rebec is a medieval fiddle._


	3. Chapter 3

**Warden Games**

Leonie went through her desk drawer three times, finally deciding that nothing was actually missing, but that only served to deepen the mystery. She locked the drawer and slipped the key into the pocket of her leather breaches.

"Good morning, Lion!" Laurent greeted affably as he entered her office. Leonie looked up, trying to compose her face. And her thoughts. She was trying to convince herself that she had inadvertently forgotten to lock her desk drawer. She could see that something was on Laurent's mind so she focused on him, but there was a faintly fluttering ribbon of concern continuing to tickle at her thoughts.

"Laurent, when did you become an early riser?" she asked suspiciously, offering him a smile.

"You left us, I had no choice," he replied somewhat glumly.

Laurent sank into a chair and studied her. Leonie raised a brow at him. "Shall I get you some tea? You look a bit tired this morning." Laurent shook his head. His scarred face knotted in a frown. Leonie wondered what would cause the usually unflappable man to look so worried.

"Come back with us, Lion," Laurent said suddenly, leaning forward in his chair, earnest and serious. "You deserve a better life than scratching around among these Fereldans. You look exhausted," he added, sitting back again.

"I am exhausted because a week ago today I was in the Architect's lair fighting for my life while the Mother's army was ravaging my Keep," Leonie reminded him grimly, shaking her head. Laurent remained silent, his frown deepening.

"Laurent, this is my home now. I meant that when I said it yesterday. These Wardens, this land, have become a part of me now," she continued sincerely.

"And Loghain Mac Tir? Is he part of the reason you wish to stay? I've heard a rumor that there is some romantic entanglement there. Is that true?" Laurent pried, his expression disapproving.

Leonie frowned and stood, moving to Laurent. She laid a hand on his shoulder. "I have known you a long time now, Laurent, and it was never like you to listen to rumors, nor comment upon them. Nor is it like you to be so outrageous. We have always been good friends and I would ask that you tell me what this is all about?"

Laurent took her hand and held it to his scarred cheek, closing his eyes for a minute. She could feel the unease in him now, the tension. "It's Didier. He is closer to the calling than he would have you believe and I know how much he misses you."

Leonie perched on the arm of his chair, letting her hand stay against his cheek, nestled in his own hand. "My dear Laurent, you are stalling. You must tell me the truth," she chided gently.

"It's the usual political mess, Leo. You know what it's like in Val Royeaux. Everyone is playing the Grand Game, even some of our Greys. We need someone strong to lead us after Didier. Someone who will not allow such behavior. It was always assumed you would lead the Grey of Orlais after Didier."

"There are many who are strong within the Orlesian ranks. Is Sebastian not the Second? He is a strong man."

"He left. Went back to Nevarra a few months ago. Nobody knows why. Fontayne took his place and you know what a little ferret he is," Laurent explained, his normally cheerful tone now morose. "We will lose a lot of our territory with him as our leader."

"Truly, my friend, if it is as you say, it is best that you contact Magnus. In fact, I shall write to him. But I am not going back to Orlais, at least not unless I receive new orders. There is much still to do here," Leonie said firmly, softening her refusal with a light kiss on the top of his chestnut curls.

"And why, for the Maker's sake, did you think slapping at Loghain all day yesterday would make me want to go to Orlais with you?" she continued, lightly thumping the same spot she had just kissed.

Laurent gave her an evil little grin. "I didn't do that to get at you, Leo. That was just pure sport. The man is too arrogant for his own good."

Leonie sighed. "The more I think I understand people the less I find I actually do." Laurent grinned and nodded sagely at that pronouncement.

"Now, let us see what tortures you have prepared for the challenge," she added, standing up and moving to her desk.

"You could have stayed where you were, Lion. Many a woman longs to be that close to me, but few are allowed," Laurent claimed and she rolled her eyes.

"This is not a thing which will occur, Laurent, as well you know."

"I know, I know, but you're good practice," he laughed.

Aura entered with a tray, carefully stepping out of reach of Laurent as she brought the tray to Leonie's desk. Leonie couldn't stop the chuckle the woman's action provoked.

"You see what I have to put up with?" Laurent said with feigned indignation. "You must come back to Orlais with me, Leonie," he cajoled and she laughed.

"It is your own fault, Laurent," Aura retorted and turned to leave, nearly running into Loghain as she did.

Inwardly groaning, Leonie waved him in. "Shall I pour you a cup of tea, Loghain?" she offered coolly. He stepped into the office and nodded curtly.

"We are about to discuss the challenge, if you wish to join us," she continued, handing Loghain his tea. He took it carefully, his fingers lightly brushing against hers and she finally looked up and met his eyes. They were not the color of a winter storm, but rather a cool spring blue. That surprised her. She smiled as she turned back to the teapot.

"Naturally we should have a rope pulling contest, the standard five man teams," Laurent began. "Also I saw a creek not far from here. A perfect place to hold the event."

Leonie did not let her second groan of the morning escape either. Rope pulling over a creek meant one of the teams was going to get very wet. She would have to include several women on the team and she looked up to find Laurent smirking.

"Is this a cheap ploy to see women in wet clothing?" she asked warily, giving him a stern look.

"Now, Lion, how could you think that of me?" he replied with a chuckle.

"And what else have you devised?"

"A horse race, of course. Now that you have horses," he added with a smug smile in Loghain's direction. Really, Leonie thought sourly, he needed his nose tweaked.

"Should Loghain consent, he has a fine black steed. Taranis. He will make short work of your Orlesian horse," Leonie chortled.

"That is agreeable, provided I ride him. He is an ill tempered beast," Loghain said, leaning closer, giving Laurent a warning look as if to say he was not just speaking of the horse. Leonie found her tension beginning to weave into her muscles, pulling them tighter.

"Truly? I had hoped to race Leo. She sits a horse much better than most men."

"Continue," Leonie broke in as Loghain looked about to argue with Laurent which would just make the Orlesian happy.

"Archery. Highest score of ten arrows."

Leonie frowned. "Only ten?"

"Yes, but the archer must fist down two ales."

"Maker, Laurent, you are a twisted man."

"Thank you, my delicious Lion," Laurent leered and Leonie leaned across her desk with a glare.

"I did not mean that as a compliment, you vain man," she remarked acidly.

"And yet, I feel complimented. Truly a happy event for both of us, dear Leo."

Leonie found she was gritting her teeth. "Very well. Continue."

"A foot race along a course of my choosing. First against First. I shall show mercy on you, little Lion," he added condescendingly with another devious smile.

"Your overconfidence will be your undoing, Laurent. You have no hope of winning, your monstrous ego shall weigh you down," she responded with a huff of anger, finally goaded. Laurent laughed.

"And last, we must involve the mages or they'll be offended."

Leonie groaned. "Do not tell me you are going to use the storm clash for this," she complained but Laurent's devilish smile told her he was.

"Very well. And I assume that should it be necessary, there will be a duel between Firsts?" she asked, hands folded in her lap, once more in control of her temper. She rarely beat Laurent, but she was capable of doing so. She hoped it wouldn't be necessary.

"Of course. Shall we begin in two hours?"

Leonie nodded and Laurent grinned at them both, boyish and entirely too self satisfied for Leonie's liking.

"Is this truly necessary?" Loghain began as soon as the door shut behind Laurent.

"A moment, Loghain. I must ask a question of you first," Leonie cut in and when he nodded, she continued, "Were you looking for something in my desk last night?"

Loghain's eyes narrowed, immediately offended by the question. "No, I was not," he said coldly. "I assume you think someone was?"

"Yes, and I rather hoped you would say that it was you, looking for a quill tip or some such," Leonie sighed.

"Is there anything missing?" he questioned quietly, offense giving way to concern.

"No, but I am quite sure I locked the drawer before I left my office last night. The key was where it always is but the drawer was unlocked."

"You were upset last night, is it possible you just thought you locked it?" he asked.

"I suppose it is possible, although I do not think it is so," she answered.

They fell silent and in the silence were the unspoken recriminations and hurt pride from the night before. Leonie waited for him to speak, refusing to say more.

"Commander?"

"Warden Loghain?"

"Are you considering a return to Orlais?" There was a curiously flat note in his voice, as if he had divined her answer and wasn't happy with it.

"That would certainly make your life easier, would it not? You could become the Warden Commander and once again vanquish the Orlesians from your country," she answered, her voice as cool and bitter as the autumn wind outside.

"I don't recall having made mention of that, Commander," he responded, his own voice matching hers.

"I am sure it will come as a great disappointment, but I have no desire to return to Orlais," she finally answered, chin tilted up, eyes defiant.

"You are impossibly childish," he ground out, standing and moving around the room. She saw his hands were clenched. He finally came to stand beside her desk.

"I am impossibly childish and you are impossibly arrogant. It is a dilemma, yes?" she prodded but the anger in her was less tightly curled, slowly unwinding. He had not been afraid she would stay, she realized. He had been afraid she would leave. She stood and moved to stand beside him, hip against the desk, arms folded as she stared up at him.

"So it would seem," he agreed as he looked down at her. He was so close she could feel his breath against her cheek, a zephyr of warm air. Neither spoke but the hostility had left them and Leonie returned to her chair.

"It was particularly cold last night," she finally declared softly.

"I was under the impression that you preferred sleeping alone last night," he said stiffly.

"Had you answered my question yesterday, I would not have been so inclined."

"I thought we agreed this was not the time or place for such a discussion," he replied, but his voice had softened.

"You are an extremely obstinate man."

"You are an extremely stubborn woman," he responded.

"Does it not feel as though we have had this discussion before?" she asked, her smile creeping into her voice despite her best effort to prevent it.

"More than once," he agreed with a hint of amusement in his voice. "And we'll have it again."

"On this we can agree, Loghain," she murmured.

* * *

They gathered in the courtyard, two teams of Wardens, eager to demonstrate their abilities. Laurent agreed that since Leonie only had a total of seven Wardens, he would have three of his sit out the entire challenge. The three men were not pleased, especially Weirmur, a tall, taciturn man with small dark eyes and a cruel smile. Leonie noticed with some dismay that Laurent's three largest and strongest Wardens, Thorsen, Armand and Volthier, were on the team. It did not bode well for their chances in the rope pull, she thought sourly.

As she and Loghain had discussed their Warden's assignments for the various challenges, they had agreed that Leonie would not participate in the rope pull in order to save her stamina for the foot race. Leonie had been reluctant but knew that it was the wisest decision. She and Anders would watch and encourage the team from the sidelines.

"Remember, use an underhand grip on the rope, keep your arms fully extended but not rigid. It is called a rope pull but you must use your legs to push back, as one, if you are to win," Leonie instructed the team as they made their way to the creek. She sounded more like a mother instructing her children than the Commander of the Grey. She found she was biting her lower lip nervously as she watched them line up across the creek from the Orlesian team.

Her dismay continued to grow as she saw Armand, his thighs as round and as thick as a full grown tree, take the front spot. Beefy, dark haired, dark eyed, with a smile that was mocking and unpleasant, he snickered as he watched Alistair move into place. Volthier was at the back, standing taller than the rest. His ginger hair was pulled back, showing a face that had been on the receiving end of one fight too many, his nose bulbous and hooked from being broken during several brawls. He could lift a horse over his head, Leonie was sure.

"Remember, push with your legs and do so together," she urged.

Sigrun grinned at her. "Relax, Lion. It's only a game," she said cheerfully.

Right, only a game, Leonie reminded herself grimly. Laurent, who had also decided not to participate in the rope pull, was grinning with unabashed glee at her nervousness.

"Little Sigrun is right, Leo. No reason to fret so," he taunted with another grin.

Varel, as impartial a judge as they could find, raised his arm and everyone took their stance. "Begin!" he called out and the first event got underway.

Loghain was issuing the "push" command and she was relieved and proud to watch her Wardens moving together, the rag tied to the rope moving slightly toward their side. Laurent was shouting at his men and they were digging their feet into the ground, ready to push back. This give and take continued for long minutes. She could see Tamra and Sigrun tiring, could see Alistair's sweat glistening in the weak autumn sunlight. Leonie and Anders continued to shout encouragement.

"Did you Ferelden Wardens know that Leonie once got caught in a farmer's trap and wound up hanging upside down in a tree, trussed like a Feastday Goose?" Laurent asked suddenly of her Wardens. And that was the end of the rope pull as Sigrun erupted into laughter and Nathaniel became momentarily distracted. Her team splashed into the creek, Tamra and Alistair falling into the cold water.

"Is that true?" Sigrun asked, still giggling.

"It does not matter whether it is true or not, Sigrun. He was merely trying to distract you," Leonie explained but her cheeks were as scarlet as the maple leaves that were slowly dancing in the light breeze.

"And more importantly," she continued with a proud smile, "you worked very well together. You were a team. I am most proud of you," she finished as she helped Alistair to his feet.

"That's cold," he yelped, shaking his head and shivering. Water droplets spun through the air, splattering them all. Leonie laughed, feeling a keen sense of joy rising above the nerves that had plagued her. These were her Wardens and they fought well together.

Laurent and Loghain moved to their respective horses next. They were to ride from the gates to the main road and back three times. Leonie was more than confident that Loghain would win. He was a superior horseman and Taranis had heart and stamina on his side. She rested a hand lightly on Loghain's booted foot as she adjusted his stirrup. "Do me proud, Loghain," she whispered to him and felt his gloved hand rest for a moment on the crown of her hair.

Varel once again started the challenge and Leonie watched as the horses lunged forward. Her Wardens gathered around her as they cheered and whistled encouragement. On the first circuit, Laurent and Loghain were neck in neck as they turned to start their second run. Both men had a grim determination about them but Loghain also looked confident. On the second circuit, Loghain was slightly ahead; his turn sharp and crisp as he headed back down the drive. Laurent was digging in, lowering his head and body to try and make up the gap. By the third circuit it was apparent that Loghain would win quite handily. Her Wardens were clapping and boisterous in their approval as he finally pulled up, the victor by a wide margin. Everyone, even Alistair, congratulated Loghain who accepted it all with a gruff thanks but Leonie saw the flash of triumph light his blue eyes.

There was a break then, everyone gathering around a trestle table. Aura, Astrid and Terrill brought out trays of food and cider. Leonie ate sparingly, knowing that her foot race was next. She noticed that Laurent, jaunty and cocky, was eating a rather large amount of food and she averted her face so he couldn't see the smile on her face. He had just given her the advantage.

Loghain helped her out of her armor and she slipped on her soft boots, bending to tie them tightly to her feet. She had once run completely out of her boots during a foot race and lost when she cut her foot on loose stone. He rested his hand on her shoulder, giving it a light squeeze before stepping aside, to stand with his Ferelden brothers and sisters.

The course for the foot race went from the main gate, through a plowed field, across the creek to a towering oak tree. Two red ribbons had been tied in an upper branch. They would have to climb the tree, untie the ribbon and climb back down, returning along the same path to the finish line. Leonie took her place beside Laurent, who gave her another cocky grin.

"To victory," he whispered and she nodded once.

"Mine," she retorted, easing into a lower stance.

"Begin!" Varel shouted and Leonie was off, long strides across the plowed field, head down. She concentrated on keeping her breath even and deep, keeping her stride long and arms pumping. Laurent was beside her and then pulling ahead. She didn't wade across the creek. As it approached she prepared herself and jumped across it, landing beside a surprised Laurent. He pulled ahead again as they approached the tree. But Leonie had spent her childhood in the large oak in the Jader compound. Climbing trees came as naturally to her as breathing and she was already dropping from branch to branch, ribbon in hand, by the time Laurent had untied his ribbon. Jumping to the ground from the last branch, she started off again, heading back the way she had come. Once again she jumped the creek and had just entered the field when she heard Laurent, panting, pulling up beside her. Her sides were cramping, her legs burning, but she was not about to let Laurent win. She pushed on, digging deeply into her reserves, and when it seemed that Laurent might pass her, she threw herself across the line that marked their finish, rolling onto the ground, clutching her red ribbon. Her Wardens were cheering jubilantly as Laurent offered her a hand up.

"Well done, little Lion, well done," he admitted with a grin.

"You too, Laurent," she gasped, still searching for her breath. She thought she might have left it in the tree somewhere. Her Wardens gathered around her, slapping her back and congratulating her. Leonie was still panting, muscles screaming in protest, but she was grinning wildly at them all.

"I've never actually done a mage storm before, Lion," Anders admitted nervously as he and Shaniel prepared to face off across the plowed field. They were to cast a storm in the circle Laurent had measured out, halfway between the two mages. Shaniel was casting a firestorm and Anders was casting a blizzard. The first to defeat the other storm would win. It was a test of mana and willpower and Anders was justifiably nervous. So was Leonie. She had seen Shaniel's abilities in action against the darkspawn but Anders, as a healer, rarely used his larger damaging spells.

"I have every faith in you, Anders. This is not about winning, but about believing in yourself, yes?" she encouraged, giving him a quick hug. "I am proud of you, never doubt that," she added before stepping away.

For those who had never seen a mage storm, it was a dazzling display of elemental power. The middle of the field was alive with magic and even from a distance, Leonie could feel the magic thick in the air, dancing amongst them all as the main storm continued to grow in the center of the field.

It went on for what seemed like hours to Leonie. Both men, arms held high as they continued to gather more magic from the air and launch it at their own storm, began to grow tired. She saw Anders, his face drawn and pale as he concentrated, begin to shine with perspiration. Shaniel's arms seemed to be quivering with exertion. And still the fire and ice clashed with angry energy over the field. Leonie could feel her skin begin to tingle from the currents of magic dancing around them all. The sky darkened and the wind strengthened and still the two mages warred. Leonie saw that the other onlookers were as entranced as she was by the scene, nobody was cheering or even moving, all of them just staring as the storm continued to grow. Finally, with a loud crack of thunder, Shaniel's firestorm devoured the blizzard and Anders sank to his knees, exhausted.

"Oh Anders, that was beautiful!" Leonie murmured, coming to kneel beside him. "You were spectacular!" she added, rubbing his back as he knelt there, weak and drained. Shaniel was also kneeling and she watched as Teodar came and squatted beside him, smiling. The other Ferelden Wardens came to offer their congratulations and admiration to Anders who smiled tiredly, but proudly, at them.

"I believe the score is tied, my lovely Leo. It is up to the archers now," Laurent crowed, coming to stand beside her.

"I love Teodar but I warn you, my overconfident friend, Nathaniel is as fine an archer as Teo. They are perfectly matched."

"Let us hope so. I would hate to humiliate you on the dueling field," he retorted with another cocky smile. And then his smile slipped and concern came into his green eyes.

"You're bleeding, Lion," he accused, coming closer. He touched her shoulder and when he drew his hand back, she saw blood coating his fingers. Her wound had opened up; probably when she had thrown herself across the finish line earlier.

Loghain was there immediately, pulling at her padding to examine her shoulder, frowning. The skin that was still trying to gather over the hole left by the darkspawn bite had pulled apart again. He sent Sigrun for a poultice and bandages, as Anders was depleted of mana and still recovering from his challenge.

"If a duel is necessary, I'll take the Commander's place," he said quietly and with such authority in his voice that neither Leonie nor Laurent challenged him. She whispered her thanks to Loghain, for his ears alone. He smirked as if it had been his plan all along to duel Laurent. Men, she thought with a disgusted snort, as she went to have Sigrun bandage her.

Gathering several minutes later in the practice yard, Leonie noticed that archery targets had been moved into place and there were four mugs of ale sitting on an upturned barrel. Teodar and Nathaniel, two of the quietest, most intense men she had ever known, were each equipping their quivers.

Two ales later, each man, alternating, began to fire at the targets with cold precision. Each arrow seemed to hit the center mark with unerring accuracy, as if neither had downed even one ale, let alone two.

As they were shooting, the wind came up again, cooler and sharper, demanding attention. The distant threat of rain became a promise as the storm clouds continued to coalesce. The air took on the sweet, pungent smell of wet leaves and earth. Each man adjusted for the rising wind. Each man continued with meticulous care. Each arrow hit the center ring with a firm snap. In the end, it was a tie, each having a perfect score. Even as she offered her congratulations, she felt a sense of dread. A tie. The duel would be fought. But the others were crowing in triumph and their absolute belief that Loghain would win cheered her. She had faith in him as well, but she had dueled Laurent many times. He was formiddable.

They stood with blunted longswords, each man proud and arrogant in stance and manner. Leonie came up and stood between them, her voice pitched loud enough for all to hear.

"The Challenge of Brothers has ended in a tie. The winner will be determined by this duel. It is now time for the announcement of forfeit," she began, looking at Laurent. As the challenger, he must be the first to announce the forfeit required of the losing team. She did not like the wicked gleam in Laurent's eyes.

"As forfeit, I require the Warden Commander of the Grey of Ferelden to perform the Dance of the Stolen Veil for a gathering of both the Grey of Orlais and the Grey of Ferelden," he announced and his men began to clap and cheer. Leonie felt her color drain from her face. She realized that her Wardens had no idea what the dance involved. She hoped to keep it that way.

"As forfeit, I require the entire complement of Orlesian Wardens to perform a song for us at dinner," she announced quietly and waited until she saw the cocky and relieved smile settle on Laurent's face before she continued, "in gowns."

There was a groan from the Orlesian Wardens and whoops from the Ferelden Wardens at her announcement. Laurent's eyes narrowed but he nodded. "All in good fun," he agreed as he finally regained his grin.

The duel began just as the rain started to hit the ground in plump drops that seemed to hiss, as if in warning that more were on the way. The men circled each other, intently measuring the other. Finally, Laurent lunged. Loghain parried and side stepped, bringing his sword up immediately and thrusting. Laurent feinted, extending and then disengaging, but Loghain was already moving in, his thrust high and firm. Laurent had to bob his head out of the way of Loghain's quick thrust.

Leonie was finding it difficult to remember to breathe as she watched the two men, nearly of identical height and reach. Laurent had youth on his side, Loghain had patience on his. Their swords clashed in a scream of metal angrily scraping metal, even blunted as the weapons were. Loghain pressed Laurent and then lunged but Laurent parried, dancing away. Loghain took a step back and brought his sword up again, twitching his shoulders before catching Laurent's sword on the inside and pushing Laurent back with the force of his press.

The rain was now falling in earnest, as if to make good on its earlier promise, and the ground beneath them quickly became a quagmire. Laurent slipped and almost dropped to his knees before catching himself. Loghain pressed his advantage, his lunge causing Laurent to scuttle back. Laurent brought his sword inside and pressed, forcing Loghain to parry and then feint, catching Laurent's sword with his and pushing his attack. By now both men were drenched and each move caused a soft sucking sound as boots and mud battled each other.

Leonie saw the minute Loghain won. Laurent scrambled away from a charging lunge and when he did, he lowered his sword just enough for Loghain to move in. With a deft twist of wrist and shoulder, he brought his sword edge in and then immediately brought his shoulder up before he twisted his wrist again, sending Laurent's sword flying out of his hand. Off balance, Laurent was fighting to remain upright, but he slipped in the mud and fell, defeated.

Without hesitation, Leonie ran to Loghain, throwing herself at him, crowing her triumph and delight as she clung to him. He staggered back but held her firmly to him, his rich rumble of laughter tickling her ear. The other Ferelden Wardens crowded around and it was then that Loghain Mac Tir, Hero of River Dane, Senior Warden of Ferelden, finally lost his balance in the rain slicked mud and both he and Leonie tumbled to the ground beside Laurent, bringing most of the Wardens with them.

Leonie, covered with mud and drenched from the rain, was still clinging to Loghain, her laughter a joyous accompaniment to the downpour.


	4. Chapter 4

id:6421225

**A/N:**_I am having computer problems. I blame Bill Gates. I may be slow in updating the story for the next few days. *Kicks hard drive, cursing*_

**Requests**

Everyone gathered for mulled cider in the great room where a large fire was burning cheerily. The Wardens were celebrating and the mood was festive. She chuckled as she watched a rather cocky Loghain leaning one elbow on the mantle, ankles casually crossed, as he listened to a very excited Sigrun recounting the duel from her perspective. Leonie thought there would be no living with the man for a period of time and it amused her to see the slight swagger in him now.

After speaking to Aura about preparing a large celebration dinner and finding some gowns for the Orlesian Wardens, Leonie squelched up the stairs, leaving a trail of wet footprints in her wake. She was still shivering from the deluge she'd been caught in. Even though the rain had washed much of the mud off her, there were still bits of it clinging to her cheek and arm. Her boots made little_squish squish_ sounds as she walked down the hall to her room. Removing wet armor and padding was not an easy task but Leonie had just managed to finish when the hot water for her bath arrived. As it was brought in, she heard the sound of boisterous laughter and loud voices from below and she smiled. The evening was going to be even livelier than last night, she suspected.

Val Royeaux and her former life there seemed so long ago. Her thoughts turned to Didier and his unfailing kindness to her, especially after her duel with Maraville. The guilt inspired by Laurent's concern for Didier niggled at her as she soaked aching muscles in the warm bathwater. She felt a pull, a desire to go and visit with her old friend before it was too late, but it seemed an impossible dream. The need to recruit and rebuild the Order in Ferelden, to oversee the arling, must take precedent for now and the foreseeable future. She wondered if she could combine a recruitment trip in Orzammar with a quick trip to Val Royeaux.

There were other considerations as well. She wanted to visit her mother and uncle in the Bannorn. And she felt a strong need to go to Ostagar, to pay her respects to those Wardens who had died there, to see where the darkspawn firestorm had first begun. Sighing, she realized that there was also the Landsmeet in the spring that she would have to attend, especially if she hoped to alleviate any concerns over her appointment of Delilah Howe Beechem as Bann of Amaranthine. Going to Orlais, no matter how much she wanted it, was not in her future.

Cocking her head to one side, Leonie sat up, listening. She was sure she had heard a noise coming from her bedroom, the low whine of hinges as a door opened. Her heart began to beat nervously. Her mouth went dry.

"Astrid?" she called out, her voice reedy with sudden dread. She strained to hear even the faintest noise, other than the steady beat of the rain and the hum of the wind coming through her boarded up window.

Cautiously, quietly, she reached for her bathsheet and slowly stood up, stepping out of her bath before pausing to listen again. She moved forward again and then heard what sounded like the quiet click of a door being closed. Gripping her bathsheet tightly, she ran to the door and pulled it open, peering along the hallway. It was empty. Had she imagined it? She must have.

Shivering as much from nerves as the cold, she stepped back into her room and quietly shut and locked her door. She went to the small desk she used for private correspondence, frowning thoughtfully. Everything appeared undisturbed. The sheets of vellum, the ink well and her letters all seemed to be in their proper place and when she opened the drawers, they all seemed to be as she had left them. She continued to look around her room but found no evidence of anything missing or even out of place. Was it just an overwrought imagination? Had it been all those months of watching and waiting for Esmerelle to strike that left her feeling so twitchy? Was she still stressed from her encounter with the Architect and the implications of his words? Her unease warred with her common sense. She was tired; her emotions had been in turmoil for months. It was making her edgy and forgetful.

A loud rapping at her door caused her to jump and let out a ragged, husky cry of surprise, which made her feel foolish. "Who is it?" she called out hesitantly, moving toward the door. She chided herself for being irrational, tamping down her anxiousness.

"Commander?" Loghain asked, his voice muffled through the thick wooden door. She turned the lock and opened the door, still clutching her bathsheet to her. He raised a brow as he looked at her.

"I see I was expected," he said with a smirk as he entered her room.

Leonie gave him a weak smile and moved to her armoire. "Or you simply believe now that you have beaten Laurent soundly, I will throw myself at your feet, a humble and obedient servant to your whims," she teased. She had striven for lightness but there was still an edge, a sharpness caused by anxiety, in her voice.

"What is it?" he asked quietly, coming to stand behind her. It was a bit unnerving to see how easily he seemed to read her moods now. She wasn't sure she liked it.

"Nothing but an overactive imagination," she replied with a quiet chuff of embarrassed laughter.

"What is it?" he repeated more firmly, his hands coming to span her waist.

"I thought I heard something while I was taking my bath but there was no one in the room and nothing has been disturbed. It is just as I say, an overactive imagination," she said, leaning back against him, feeling his solid warmth calming her.

Loghain stilled and she could almost feel the frown on his features as it formed, even without seeing it. "Are you certain?"

"I looked, there was no one in the hall and nothing is missing, everything exactly as I left it. I probably dozed off and imagined it," Leonie explained, feeling even more foolish. She sounded just like the kind of hysterical woman she detested. She straightened, moving away from his embrace to turn and face him.

"You don't think it more likely, with a house full of Orlesian guests, that someone was prowling around your desk and your room?" he asked mildly. But there was certain grim accusation in his tone that immediately raised her hackles. She took a deep breath.

"Please, Loghain. Can we not have one full day where we do not argue or disparage one another? Could this not be such a day?" she beseeched, hands reaching out to rest lightly on his arms, which were now folded across his chest. She looked into his eyes, willing him to back down.

"As long as you understand that we need to have this conversation," he finally relented, reaching out and pulling her into his arms. "And have it we will," he added firmly.

Leonie hid her smile in the soft folds of his linen shirt. "You have an extremely odd notion as to which of us is the Warden Commander," she said lightly. She closed her eyes, breathing deeply. He smelled earthy, of the pine logs that burned in the great hearth and the sweetly bitter autumn leaves and fresh air newly burnished by the rain. She felt an almost dizzying need for him begin to build deep within her. Her breath hitched as the intensity of it flooded into her.

His arms tightened as if he could feel her need and it seemed to fuel his own need. He slanted his mouth over hers, his lips urgent and hot and then his tongue was teasing hers. Her bathsheet fell from her, a victim of Loghain's hands; hands that were now exploring her body in an unrestrained manner that was unlike him. Her moan caught in her throat as he let his fingers massage her breasts. There was a greedy abandon to his kisses that ignited her blood and made breathing impossible.

She set about divesting him of his clothes as he continued his assault on her mouth and body. Her desire was flowing through her, damp and hot. Her breath was coming in short, wanton gasps as his mouth moved from hers, biting and sucking at the sensitive skin of her neck.

She felt the roughness of wood pressing against her and realized he had backed her up against the edge of her desk. She felt his growl as she finally freed him and she let her hand stroke along his length. He lifted her until she was sitting on the desk and she wrapped her legs around him, drawing him closer, felt the heat of him filling her, penetrating her. Her blood was singing in her veins and she was crying out as she met his thrusts with her own. He bent over her, tongue and teeth moving along her breasts, pulling and suckling and nibbling. She tangled her hands in his hair, directing his tongue and the heat was coiling and becoming unbearable in her, a trembling that continued to build.

"Yes," she breathed over and over; a litany, a prayer, a request for him to continue and he answered her, burying deeper and deeper in her with each thrust until the world fell away and she was calling to him to catch her, to come with her and he was, raising his head and meeting her fevered look with one of his own, blue eyes dark and heavy lidded as he shuddered, staggering with the force of his release. He lowered his head, caught her lips with his, his breath still uneven and ragged as he rested lightly against her.

"I love you, Loghain," she whispered against his lips, hands moving from his hair to sweep across the wide expanse of his shoulders. "I love you," she whispered again.

"And I you," he replied, resting his lips against the curve of her neck. A soft sigh against her skin, "And I you."

Leonie did not wear the gown she had intended. A rather colorful mark on her neck forced her to wear a cream colored kirtle with a high, stiffened collar and a heavy brocaded overdress of pearl grey. Her hair, now almost to her shoulders, was pulled back into a tight braid, wisps falling gently around her face. Astrid stood back and admired her.

"I wish I was staying, Lady Leonie. You seem so happy again. It does my heart good to see it," the young woman said, her pales eyes glittering with tears.

"You are not staying?" Leonie asked, more than a little surprised by her former maid's words. She had assumed Astrid had come to take up her post once more as her personal maid.

"I wanted to but I was told, as a maid in service to the Grey of Orlais, I could not," the young woman replied with a sad expression on her softly freckled face. "I'm not even sure why they let me come along."

"Oh, Astrid, no. You are not an indentured servant and they cannot make you stay anywhere you do not wish to stay," Leonie contradicted firmly but gently. "Who told you such a thing?"

"Warden Laurent. He speaks for Leireaux, the new Warden Commander of Val Royeaux."

Leonie felt a hot spark of anger at the news. "Warden Laurent is the Second to the Commander of Val Royeaux?" she asked tightly.

"Yes, Lady Leonie. That's why they sent him."

In all the years she had known Laurent, he had never desired a place in the hierarchy of the Grey Wardens. He loathed all things political. He had been teased about that very fact many times. Why now was he a Second, poised to become Commander of Val Royeaux in the future?

"I shall talk with Laurent about this, Astrid," she promised, patting the young woman's hand reassuringly, her mind turning over the news with unease. What was happening in Orlais? And why had they allowed Astrid to come with them, only to take her back to Orlais again? That made no sense. There was more going on than she knew and she found it very troubling. She would have a talk with Laurent in the morning and she would not allow him to put her off with clever words or outrageous behavior.

As Leonie went downstairs a few minutes later, she spied Teodar talking quietly with Varel. With a warm smile, she greeted them both. If Varel was surprised to see her so formally dressed, he hid it behind his usual mask of deference and bureaucracy and she looked deeper to see the pride in them as well. He was just as proud of her Wardens as she was.

"Should you not be _dressing_?" she asked Teodar with a pert smile. Teodar, a faint stain on his usually pale cheeks, nodded.

"I was just speaking with your Seneschal about the city of Amaranthine. Our ship sails on tomorrow evening's tide."

Leonie felt a keen disappointment at the news that her friends would be leaving so soon. "I had hoped you would stay longer, Teo. Is there not a later ship you can take?"

Teodar shook his head. "The Imperial Fleet sent a ship for us. It wouldn't do to refuse Empress Celene," he explained. Leonie felt a frisson of unease run through her.

"Are things as Laurent says?"

"There is trouble brewing between Nevarra and Orlais. Perendale and the western hills area again."

"Andraste's grace, that has been a problem since the war in 8:70 Blessed but I thought things were still calm there," Leonie replied in surprise. The border dispute had waxed and waned for over fifty years. Why was it suddenly a problem? She gave voice to her question.

"A group of Nevarran Wardens were ambushed by the Orlesian border guard. Ten men killed. There were the usual apologies but they did little to stop the anger. Several Nevarran Wardens serving in Orlais have transferred back home," Teodar explained quietly.

"You are Nevarran, yet you stay," she reminded him, placing a light hand on his shoulder as she looked into his silver grey eyes, searching for the answers to questions that were beginning to stir in her brain.

"I'm not staying," he answered with a certain quiet dignity. "I am returning to Nevarra once we land in Orlais, Lion. But I would ask that you keep that quiet," he added.

Leonie nodded, too stunned by the news to speak. Finally, when the shock had receded somewhat she said, "We are not political, Teodar. How can we effectively serve all the nations of man if we get involved in the politics of war?" Her voice was still strained from the shock.

"That's disingenuous of you, Lion. The Wardens of Ferelden settled a civil war by gathering enough political support to sway a Landsmeet. Before that, they settled the dispute of who would ascend the throne of Orzammar. And you were involved in the overthrow of a corrupt regime in Weisshaupt that also led to the eventual downfall of the government in the Anderfels. We have always been tasked to become involved in politics if it is in the best interests of the Grey Wardens," Teodar argued, his grey eyes intense as they met Leonie's.

"Teo, the events in Ferelden were during a Blight, a time which necessitated any means available, no matter how unsavory. As to the other, I am not sure I can mount a strong defense for that except to assure you that it was for the greater good, or so it seemed at the time," Leonie replied earnestly.

Before their discussion could continue, a young servant girl came to tell Teodar that he was wanted by Laurent. Leonie leaned forward and kissed Teo's cheek. "We shall talk again of this matter, Teo. Know that you have a home here if you so desire, my dear friend."

Alistair came into the dining hall, looking young and more relaxed than Leonie had ever seen him. "Wow, you're all dressed up. Are we having a party?" he asked with a boyish grin. There was something about Alistair that stirred her sleeping maternal instincts. She found herself constantly fighting the urge to pinch his cheek or ruffle his hair, which was always perfectly brushed, each strand of hair in place. She was relieved to see that he was taking care of himself again, that he was beginning to take pride in himself again.

"That is the rumor, yes," she replied with a grin. "And as you have seen for yourself, we Wardens are a fun group at parties, are we not?"

"I'll say. And great gossipers too. I learned lots of juicy stories from Laurent and Shaniel last night," he agreed enthusiastically.

"Remember what they say about gossip, Alistair. It is most often _flavor_ over substance."

"Ooh, is that a food reference? I'm starving," he responded with another grin and went in the direction of the kitchens.

Sigrun and Anders entered the dining hall discussing the events of the day. "Good evening, Wardens," she greeted warmly.

"Hey, Lion. So, what is the whole Veil thing?" Anders asked as he came to stand beside her. He and Sigrun were watching her with great interest. Leonie shrugged.

"Anders, you are a mage. Surely I do not have to explain the Veil to you," she said with a mischievous smile.

"There are times when I really don't like you," Anders complained good-naturedly.

"I would not have it any other way, Anders."

As they stood talking, Nathaniel and Tamra arrived, arm in arm. Tamra had traded her splintmail for a dress the color of sea foam that set her coloring off beautifully. Judging from the heated glances Nathaniel kept throwing Tamra's way, he thought so too.

Loghain entered close on the heels of the young lovers and once Alistair returned from the kitchen, a bright red apple in his hand, Leonie nodded to Varel, who went to tell the Orlesian Wardens it was time for their show. Loghain's hand was warm on the small of her back as they made their way to the head table. He was not usually keen on showing any affection openly and yet today that had not been the case. She wasn't complaining, but she was curious about the change and couldn't help but wonder if it would continue once the Orlesian Wardens returned home.

"You look different," he remarked as they took their seats. She had placed him on her left and she turned her gaze on him, eyebrow arched.

"It is difficult to determine from your tone if it is a good different or a bad different. But with your penchant for flowery compliments, I shall accept you meant the remark in a good way and so I thank you," she responded with a smile, reaching up to graze his cheek lightly with her fingertips.

"A little decorum, if you please, Commander," he responded but his smirk was rather smug as he turned away from her gaze.

If only all days could be this way, Leonie thought wistfully. The closeness she felt with each of her Wardens; Loghain and the sweet accord that flowed between them were even more important to her than winning the Challenge of Brothers had been. Which was not to say she didn't enjoy the victory at all. She was still gloating, as were all her Wardens, and deservedly so, she thought with a fond smile.

Before her thoughts could continue on their present course, Varel announced the Orlesian Wardens. It amazed Leonie how seven people could produce such loud and boisterous laughter but the Grey Wardens of Ferelden nearly raised the roof with their raucous amusement.

As the Senior Warden, Laurent entered first. He was wearing a pale pink gown with a row of coral ribbons along the mercifully high cut bodice. His chestnut locks were pulled back from his handsome, scarred face by small silver combs. He dropped a clumsy curtsy and an outrageous grin before he swept his arm out, indicating his fellow Wardens.

Of all ten of the Orlesian Wardens, Shaniel was far and away the prettiest. His violet eyes and lustrous brown hair seemed perfectly suited for the lilac color of his wool gown. He was blushing as he entered and his eyes were downcast as he carefully made his way to Laurent's side.

Big and beefy Armand was garbed in a rather large, tent like dress of burgundy, a particularly good choice for his dark eyes and hair. He did not drop a curtsy, he merely glowered at the assembled Wardens and stomped over to stand by Shaniel. Leonie's sides were beginning to ache from her laughter.

Where Volthier had found a dress long enough to fit his very tall frame, Leonie couldn't guess, but it brushed the ground as he walked in, a dark green concoction with a large and fancy bow in the front. And low cut which made the Ferelden Wardens groan in something akin to disgust as his broad, scar covered chest was more exposed than it had any right to be. But the color did good things for his skin and so Leonie told him loudly. There was another roar of laughter as many of the Orlesian Wardens joined in.

By far, her favorite was Teodar, quiet and stoic Teodar, wearing a bright blue velvet gown with wide sleeves and a silver girdle. His silver streaked hair was caught up in a braid and his curtsy was one any woman would be proud of. He blew Loghain a kiss before taking his spot and Leonie was thankful she had not taken the sip of wine she'd wanted to, she would have choked. The expression on Loghain's face was making it hard for her to catch her breath, her laughter nearly overcoming her completely. There was a mixture of indignation, humor and arrogant disdain warring for prominence and he blinked his eyes several times as if completely mystified by the spectacle.

Once all the Orlesian Wardens had taken their place, Laurent stepped forward. "Warden Commander Leonie, we humbly submit our forfeiture to you and ask that you take it in the spirit in which it is given."

Clearing his throat, he nodded to his Wardens and they began to sing a very lively song, one whose tune was familiar but as Leonie listened, she realized they had altered the words. Her blush sat warmly upon her cheeks.

_In Val Royeaux they sing a song, a sad and bawdy tale,  
About a lovely lioness and her painted veil._

_She danced with quick and clever steps for young and even old,  
A saucy smile upon her face and eyes so very bold._

_One night a thief did steal a kiss and took her painted veil,  
And oh our lovely lioness, her face turned wicked pale._

_She stopped her dancing straightaway, her hands upon her hips,  
And men were shocked to hear such words coming from her lips!_

_The room of Wardens went quite mad, they begged for her to stay,  
But on that night she wept and wailed and then she ran away._

_Now they claim the sultry Lioness went quietly insane,  
But I tell you now truthfully, she merely found Loghain.  
Oh I tell you now truthfully, she merely found Loghain!_

With a flourish and bow, they sang the last verse again, loudly. Leonie, torn between hiding her face and laughing, settled for laughing. The other Wardens were stomping their feet and asking the Orlesians to sing it again. Laurent, with that boyish, evil glint in his eye, said he would only if Leonie danced for them. She declined his request with a smile of her own and then asked that dinner be served as soon as the Orlesian Wardens had changed out of their gowns. But her blush rose again.

As the singers made their way out of the dining hall, Loghain leaned close, his voice pitched low.

"I'll have to request that veil dance some night soon."

Her blush seemed intent on remaining where it was.

**A/N**_: The tune for their song is from an old drinking song, "__**The Night Paddy Murphy Died**__" although almost any Irish drinking song will work.  
There is a one-shot featuring the Dance of the Stolen Veil entitled "A Veiled Dance"_


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: **_I hope to have a companion piece to Chapter 4 up sometime this weekend, "A Veiled Dance," having to do with Loghain's request at the end of the aforementioned chapter._

**Distant Lands**

Long after Loghain had fallen asleep, Leonie remained awake. She could hear his deep, even breathing and tried to let it lull her to sleep but her mind refused to give way to sleep. Someone was systematically going through her things, yet nothing was taken. Had they not found what they were looking for? And what was it they searched for? Most importantly, who was it?

As quietly as could, she slipped out of bed and reached for her nightdress and wrapper. Loghain stirred, gave a drowsy grunt and she held her breath. She did not want to have the talk she knew was coming. That he had been right to distrust her Orlesian Wardens galled her. That she felt she could no longer trust them hurt deeply. She found the only two she did trust were Laurent and Teodar. The others were as distant as the land they came from. How had that happened?

Easing the door open, holding her breath in case the door hinges protested, she slipped into the hallway. Slowly closing the door behind her, she sighed with relief when she realized Loghain had not awoken. She made her way down the stairs and to her office without encountering anyone. Hardly surprising, Leonie thought wryly, considering how late the hour was.

Fumbling in the dark, she found the lamp and quickly lit it. Her office was bathed in a pale golden light and she stood by her desk, looking at the neat stacks of unsigned orders and account books that Mistress Woolsey had delivered earlier that day. Beside that stack was a small pile of notes and correspondence regarding arling business, courtesy of Varel. What, she wondered yet again, was in her office that someone might want? What would her old friends hope to find? Was it personal? Laurent was not himself. Was he behind it? Every time she asked that she heard a resounding "NO" in her head and her heart.

Moving to the bookshelf, she removed a book and opened it, taking the small key from between its pages; her new hiding place for her desk drawer key. She seated herself at her desk and began to go through each drawer, paying meticulous attention to each item. Her report to Weisshaupt, still only partly finished because she was being so careful with her words and what she was willing to tell them. She picked up the report, four pages of thick vellum with her flowing script covering each page. Her eyes skimmed along her words and then she paused, frowning. The pages were out of order. She felt the stir of disquiet tickle her stomach. Had she been careless when she put the report back in her desk? Had someone else been careless?

A new thought struck her as she placed the report back in her desk and locked the drawer. If someone was looking at her correspondence to Weisshaupt, it was more likely to be a Fereldan than an Orlesian. The Orlesian Wardens would have been on the road long before her encounter with the Architect. They wouldn't have known about it, couldn't have known about it. They would have no interest in a report to Weisshaupt. That thought brought her no comfort.

Bleary eyed and no closer to discovering the truth, Leonie found herself heading for the kitchens and a cup of her special Orlesian tea, the one with chamomile and lavender in it, something to help her sleep because her mind would not stop now that she had discovered what someone might have been looking for. Once there, she set the kettle on the hook over the low burning fire and moved to cut several thick slices of crusty bread. With a plate of bread, a butter knife, a crock of butter, and her mug of tea, she made her way to the table and began to butter a slice of bread.

A noise, small and easily overlooked, the sound of feet in soft shod leather scraping unexpectedly against the stone of the floor. A slight noise but enough to make Leonie take her butter knife and move into the shadows. Her heart was reacting with quick, hard thumps against her chest. The door opened slowly and Leonie tightened her grip on the butter knife, heart going from thumps to loud banging.

Loghain stepped into the light and she let her breath out in a hiss. "Loghain Mac Tir, what are you doing, sneaking about in the dark like that? I could have hurt you!" she exclaimed, stepping out of the shadows.

Looking from her face to the butter knife in her hand, he smirked. "You plan to butter me to death, do you? Is that an Orlesian torture method I'm unfamiliar with?"

She tried to glower at him, to put the weight of her earlier fear, her earlier mistrust into a blazing glare that would cause him to writhe in shame. Instead she felt herself laughing, almost giddy in her relief that it was Loghain who had found her and not some as yet unnamed thief. Loghain sat down and helped himself to a slice of her bread.

"Ah, I see our most devious torture methods are known. Far stronger men than you have succumbed to its most painful techniques," she replied with a menacing scowl. He was clearly unimpressed.

"Certainly not the Orlesians I've bested," he gloated around a bite. She rolled her eyes at that.

"How did you know to find me here?" she finally asked, refusing to pander to his growing vanity. She offered him a cup of tea. He shook his head and she sat across from him. His hair, unbraided and sleep mussed, was tucked behind his ear and refusing to stay there.

"It's the middle of the night and you're a Warden. Where else would you be?" he asked with another smirk.

"At my desk, trying to understand what someone might be searching for," she responded seriously and his smirk was replaced with a raised brow and slight frown. She reached out automatically and smoothed the lines between his brows.

"I noticed that my report to Weisshaupt was not in its proper order," she continued, picking up her mug and sipping at the warm, soothing tea. "The Orlesian Wardens would have no knowledge of that report. They were traveling here during that time," she continued, bracing herself for his firestorm of protestations that a Ferelden Warden would never be the one rummaging around in her possessions.

"What possible reason would a Ferelden Warden have to read a report of an event they witnessed? And those of us who weren't there certainly got the full benefit of the experience during our debriefing," he argued with a logic that made Leonie grit her teeth.

"Ah, so neither group of Wardens is responsible. That is indeed a great relief," she replied sarcastically.

Loghain frowned again and when she went to smooth the lines out again, he caught her hand and brought it to his lips before gently allowing it to continue its course

"It means that we don't know who it is now any more than we did before, Commander. It might be that one of the Orlesian Wardens was looking for something else and knocked the papers to the floor and put them back without looking. It could mean nothing at all," he commented reasonably.

"But," he continued in that same tone, "the fact remains that your things were undisturbed until the Orlesians arrived. I hardly find that a coincidence."

"Whoever has looked through my things must be very clumsy or new to such a task, yes?" she asked as that thought struck her. "Papers not put back in their proper sequence, drawers that were locked left unlocked. Obviously this person is an amateur, which excludes all those trained in such things, does it not?"

"Not necessarily. They could just be very good. It diverts suspicion away from them if they make it appear that an amateur is at work."

"Now you are thinking like one who has played the Grand Game," she chided but his words held her in a chilling thrall for several moments as she contemplated them.

Leonie sighed, her elbows propped on the table, mug nestled between her hands as if it could somehow warm the cold disquiet that his words brought. "What are they looking for, Loghain? Surely my friends would not need to resort to such deceit. They have only to ask and I will let them know whatever they wish."

"I don't understand your naivety when it comes to people and their motivations," Loghain began and then stopped. "But this is a conversation best saved for a time when we aren't both tired," he finished and stood up. He was correct, Leonie knew, but sleep seemed like a distant land right now with her muddled, muddied thoughts milling around in her brain.

They walked up the stairs arm in arm and, much to her surprise, she found herself drowsy as they shrugged out of their clothes and climbed into Loghain's bed. Snuggling into his warmth, she closed her eyes and felt sleep overtake her almost immediately.

* * *

Standing on the battlements, Leonie studied the early morning sky. A mackerel sky, her mother would say, but to Leonie is appeared to be a field of fallen cherry blossoms and periwinkle as the sun began its slow ascent. They would have another storm tomorrow, if the old superstitions were true.

Chill winds swirled around the Keep, moaning mournfully of the coming winter. Leonie closed her eyes, letting the wind push against her as she waited for Laurent. She was not about to let him leave without trying to discover the truth. She felt his taint before he spoke.

"Good morning, my old friend," she greeted without turning around. Her eyes opened slowly as she heard him moving closer.

"Leo, you have a dangerous habit of standing too close to the edge," Laurent's voice, surprisingly soft and melodious, blending with the wind. The voice he used for persuasion.

"Only when I am with people I trust," she replied without stepping away from the edge of the battlement, demonstrating more clearly than words, that she trusted him. Loghain would be furious if he saw her standing on the edge of a knife that would cut deeply if she moved the wrong way.

"So you still trust me? I'm surprised," Laurent said, his voice tinted with relief and warmth.

"Why should I not, Laurent? Because you did not make mention that you are Second to Warden Commander Leireaux? Or perhaps it is because someone from Orlais has been rummaging about in my things?"

Carefully turning to finally look at him, Leonie smiled at Laurent's surprise. "Did you think I would not notice, Laurent?" Her voice held a whisper of a dagger wrapped in silk as she stood observing him.

He was standing firm, his surprise evident. The real question, Leonie thought grimly, was why he was surprised. He opened his mouth to speak and she raised a hand to stop him. "If it is your intent to continue with lies and half truths, my old _friend_, do not bother," she warned him with all the force of her hurt and anger in each word.

"Lion, on my oath as a Warden, I don't know what you're talking about. The only thing that I haven't told you about is the unease among the Wardens in Orlais and my becoming Leireaux's Second," Laurent said with a sheepish grin.

"I had to see where the wind blew before I told you about him," he added.

"Perhaps now you can tell me, yes?" Leonie's voice, once more reasonable and friendly but colored with a harder undertone. "You are due to leave today, so time is short, Laurent," she prodded as he stood looking at her pensively.

"I'm his second because Didier asked me to be, Leo. You know how I hate all that paperwork and the politics. I'm a field Warden, it's where I'm happiest," Laurent began, his voice low and persuasive. He didn't move closer and neither did she as she waited for him to continue.

"Didier was suspicious of Leireaux, worried that he was too involved in palace intrigues so he asked me to keep an eye on him. That's the only reason I'm doing it, Leo," Laurent continued and then trailed off, his voice devoid of its usual humor. "There are things going on that you don't understand. If you would come home now you'd see for yourself," he finally said quietly.

Leonie turned back to look at the land stretched out before her, could see all the way to the Waking Sea. "Orlais is a distant land now, Laurent. It is no longer _my_ land, my home This is," she responded without turning to look at him.

"Your life is always going to be in Orlais, Leo. You were born there and you took your first command there. You have the reputation and the power to bring the Orlesian and Nevarran Wardens back from the edge of the precipice. It's your duty," Laurent said with a passion in his voice that she had never heard before.

Leonie shook her head, still looking out at Amaranthine, at Ferelden. This was her home. For all that Didier and Laurent wanted her to come back to Orlais she knew she could not go. The wind rose, becoming a strident cry of anger as it pushed against the stone walls of the Keep. Leonie raised her voice to be heard above it.

"The Grey Wardens will never be as strong as they should be with all these secrets and all the infighting. You and Didier want me to come back to Orlais based on some nebulous warning that there are things that I do not understand. I tell you this now, Laurent. I will not get caught up in the political secrets of our Order. My duty has always been to kill darkspawn, to protect the land and its people from those darkspawn. It is not to play games with those who seek to make it less than it is."

She turned then, the wind whipping her hair around her face. Her eyes were stinging from the cruelty of the piercing wind. "I have played those games. They only serve to make us weaker, not stronger."

He came towards her, his eyes narrowed, his mouth in a tight line. He was angry and there was a predatory look about him that made Leonie suddenly wish she had her weapons with her. His hands reached out and clamped tightly around her upper arms in a painful grip. "When did you become so selfish?" he began, his voice as cold as the wind. "When did you stop caring about your brothers and sisters?"

Leonie's fear was a knot coiled in her stomach, sending long tendrils into her heart and blood. He looked almost wild in his anger and she became aware of how close she was to the edge of the battlement. She took several deep breaths, trying to keep her alarm from showing on her face, from oozing into her speech.

Below her, the courtyard of the keep was a long and deadly drop away. She could feel the heels of her boots slipping on the slick stones beneath her feet. It would be so easy for her to plummet to her death. So easy for Laurent to just let go with the gentlest of nudges. Her tongue was thick now, her mouth dry. She was holding her breath now, unable to speak. Her heart stopped for long, breathless moments. The wind dropped and then stilled completely as if it too was holding its breath. In the sudden cessation of wind, Leonie could almost hear her blood racing through her veins. She took a deep, trembling breath and then another. By the third such breath she found her voice.

"Laurent, unhand me," she commanded with quiet authority. She paused, meeting his eyes with a level gaze. "Now," she added with the same force.

Laurent blinked and stepped away, pulling her with him. "I –I'm sorry, Leonie," he said as his anger bled away. He lowered his head and dropped his hands from her. "Didier is dying and when he goes, so goes the Oder in Orlais, I believe," he concluded with sudden anguish.

"Then it is up to the both of you to prevent it from happening while there is still time. He must appoint you his second. He must remove Fontayne. If it is as serious as you say, you cannot wait for intervention from Magnus. You cannot rely on someone in a distant land to help you, Laurent, and this you know," Leonie said gravely. "And that includes me," she added.

Laurent laughed mirthlessly, his beautifully twisted face set in bitter lines. "It isn't that simple, as I said. There are things you don't know, don't understand, Leo. Our brother Wardens that are, by birth Nevarran, are leaving. Almost half the Wardens that protect the northeastern border are Nevarran. It could decimate the Orlesian wardens."

Leonie fought the sudden impulse to laugh at that. "There are a total of seven Wardens within all of Ferelden, Laurent, yet we managed to destroy the Architect and the Mother, as well as great numbers of darkspawn. You must have faith in those Wardens who remain in Orlais."

Laurent moved away from her and she found herself moving as well, putting even more distance between herself and the edge of the battlement. The silence between them was broken only by the sounds of birds waking to feed and the distant call of the guards, the high wind that was once again pushing at her.

"A Blight has just ended. The threat of the talking darkspawn and the creations of Mother are ended. The Architect is no more. Now is when we must rebuild, Laurent. There is time _now_, you must see that," Leonie reminded him gently but with a compelling force in her words.

She came to him, her hand gentle on his arm. "You are a good leader, Laurent, for all that you do not wish to be. You can bring the Order to full strength."

Laurent shook his head. "I was sure you would come home," he began but Leonie broke in.

"I _am _home, Laurent. When I return to Orlais it will be as a visitor, nothing more," she reminded him forcefully.

And, Leonie realized, none of this answered the most burning question. Who was responsible for rifling through her possessions? Another thorough search had shown nothing was missing. Why?

"Now, come, Laurent. Tell me which of the Wardens might be intent on going through my belongings?"

Laurent frowned and stiffened, offended that she would ask that of him, of his men. "Why are you so sure it is one of us? You are among those who wanted you dead and a man whose paranoia of Orlais borders on madness," he began, his voice once again taking on an arrogance that Leonie was all too familiar with. "Alistair? Nathaniel? Loghain? Aren't they the more likely ones spying on you? Why your Orlesian brothers?"

"Because, Laurent, these incursions began upon your arrival," she replied with deceptive softness. She would not get into a war of words over her recruits, though that was clearly his intent; a diversion, a means of deflection.

"I can't believe it would be any of them, Leo. We can gather them up and see what they know, but I doubt we'll gain anything by it."

Leonie frowned. "Perhaps we should meet with them individually, yes?" she said, tapping her chin thoughtfully. "If you will gather your men, I will bring them into my office one by one and discuss this," she added. "One hour, Laurent," she instructed.

Laurent bowed stiffly and turned to make his way down the steps and back into the Keep. He was unhappy and Leonie sympathized but she was not willing to let her sympathy and compassion for a fellow Warden deter her from her questioning his men.

Leonie looked out at the landscape again, now harsh and uncompromising as the bare trees stood in stark contrast against the sky, unbending in the wind. Winter was near, a Ferelden winter of tormenting winds and heavy snow. Orlais, and her life there, were now just a distant land, populated by people who had become strangers to her. She found the mournful wail of the wind was a perfect reflection of her thoughts.

She had just entered her office, Loghain on her heels, when she heard Laurent's voice, calling to her. She smiled at Loghain as Laurent entered her office, his face pale against the pink of his scars. Foreboding took her smile from her.

"What is it?" she asked quietly.

"Weirmur is missing."

"Loghain, have the soldiers start a search, give them Weirmur's description. He is tall and on the thin side. He has small, dark brown eyes and wiry black hair," she instructed and then turned to Laurent. "Check with your Wardens, find out who was the last to see him and when it was," she told him succinctly. He nodded and both men left to carry out her instructions.

An exhaustive search of the Keep and outbuildings found that he was not the only one missing. Astrid had disappeared as well.


	6. Chapter 6

**Trust**

Leonie Caron was furious. She paced the battlements in long angry strides and all who knew her knew to avoid her when she was in a high temper. She let out a loud cry of frustration and rage. Damn her for being a fool! She paced some more. Her temper was in no hurry to leave. She trusted too easily. How many times had she been told that? And yet it was her own father who had taught her that trusting others was the surest way to have them trust her. It seemed that was not always the case. Her fists were curled tightly in their leather prisons and she carefully drew her gloves off. She wanted to pitch them over the side, to give voice to the rage and hurt that roared in her heart.

Leonie's footsteps faltered as she paced the battlements alone save for the cold wind that blew disdainful and accusatory. The others were far below her, scurrying about to form search teams. There was no point to it, in her estimation. Astrid and Weirmur were long gone and neither Nathaniel nor Teodar had been able to pick up any tracks. Her bitterness, deep and cutting, began to bleed, dripping like poison, into her brain. She slapped her gloves against her leather clad leg. Damn Astrid and damn Weirmur.

They had thought, at first, that Astrid had been a hostage, an unwilling victim of Weirmur's. Leonie had felt such guilt and remorse, demanding they all go out and find the poor woman. She had been in tears because she had failed Astrid. She feared for the woman's safety. She had panicked, wondering why Weirmur would take a hostage, he seemed more the ruthless type, the type to kill somone who got in his way. Her heart had dropped to her toes, right next to where her stomach had landed at the thought of Astrid lying dead somewhere. But then a thorough search of Astrid's room indicated she had not been taken hostage or met an untimely death. All of Astrid's belongings were gone, as if she had never been there at all.

Weirmur's gear was likewise gone. They had acted in concert, but to what end? An equally thorough search of Leonie's possessions indicated nothing was missing. Were they merely searching for information? If so, what information? Her frustration, and thus her temper, grew. She let out another low cry.

It was like fighting in the dark. She had no idea why Laurent wanted her back in Orlais so badly, with such desperation that it frightened her at times. She had no idea what information might be in her possession that warranted the use of a bard and rogue Grey Wardens. Had Astrid been a bard when Leonie had first brought her on as a maid? The thought made Leonie feel physically ill. Astrid had grown up in the slums of Val Royeaux, had been victim to the very lowest, basest of men. She would be a likely candidate for recruitment as a bard, but Leonie had tried to let Astrid know a better life was available to her without turning to that kind of life. Leonie let out a low growl and slapped her gloves against the parapet.

Her thoughts turned to Loghain and his fitness to take over as the Warden Commander. He was a brilliant leader, a cunning and ruthless commander who had seemed to learn very early on in his life that trust was a fool's choice. And yet, there was more to him than that, he _did_ trust some people. How had he learned to divine who to trust and who not to?

But the answer was there, mocking her with its simplicity. Those he trusted had earned that trust, and it did not come easily, she knew. Unlike me, Leonie thought scornfully, I trust everyone until they give me reason not to do so. And yet as angry as that made her, she could not change who she was, who she had always been.

Returning to Orlais was not desirable. Not if the Wardens truly were at odds within their ranks, and willing to fight for Orlais and kill their Nevarran brothers if it came to war. And having been a commander, she also knew it would be difficult to suddenly be under the command of someone else, even someone she loved, or _especially_ under someone she loved. So if she gave command to Loghain, she couldn't stay in Ferelden either. And if she did resign as commander, Weisshaupt would hardly welcome her with open arms. She slapped her leg with her gloves again, impatient and no less furious. Why would she even consider giving up a command that Duncan and Didier had believed her capable of? That Magnus had given her on their recommendations? Damn them! Damn Loghain! And damn Laurent. But mostly damn her own trusting nature.

What was she missing? What had she missed? Was she overlooking things because she was so busy loving Loghain that the obvious went unobserved? Had falling in love with him somehow weakened her? Her love for Duncan had not weakened her, why would her love for Loghain? Or was it that she had come to rely too much on his opinion? Was this what came of living with someone you loved? She pushed the unwelcome thought away and closed the door on it. She would not entertain it.

A few days ago she had worried that her Wardens were strangers to her. Perhaps the truth was that she had become a stranger to herself. She was stronger than this, she was more stubborn, she believed instinctively in her abilities to lead. So why was she pacing along the battlements berating herself? Her pacing resumed, tears blurring her vision and dripping resolutely down her cheeks, the cold wind mocking her as it pulled at her hair and plucked at her tears.

Irritated, Leonie stopped pacing once again, looking out at the fallow fields that lay beyond the Keep. They would expect her to come down and help with the search, to issue orders, to see her fellow Orlesian Wardens off on their journey home. Some even expected her to accompany them. That was not going to happen. She scrubbed at her tears with the heels of her palms, and continued to stare out at the land below her. Somehow she had to make sense of what was going on. She had to let go of her anger and _think_. Her pacing resumed. Finally she stopped again as she felt the gentle pull of tainted blood. A Warden. Who had the courage, or brazenness to come near her when she was in high temper?

"Have you come to gloat, Loghain? To let me know that you were right about Orlesians? I warn you now, I am ready to murder anyone who crosses my path at the moment," Leonie said, feeling Loghain's presence without turning to look at him. "And I am equally ready to turn this bloody arling and the Wardens over to you. You are much more suited to command than I am, I think."

"You think so, do you?" he asked with a scowl, coming to stand beside her. "I led my country into a civil war through pride and vanity, through arrogance," he added and his voice was a curious combination of regret and irony.

She looked at him, saw the sadness in him that was so rarely allowed out. Some of her anger leached away. She refrained from touching him, knew from experience not to when he was in this mood. Just as he had learned not to touch her when she was so angry.

"I was the only one who could keep Ferelden safe," he muttered darkly. "Or so I believed. All those empty promises." He held himself apart from others when he was displaying more emotion than he wanted, Leonie thought, and she had come to understand how difficult it was for him. She didn't speak, waiting for him to continue. More of her anger dissipated, lost in the nuanced silence that was broken only by the sound of their breathing and the gentle tapping of gloves against her leather clad leg.

"I have no desire to command again. I have mentioned that before but if I need to say it again to break you out of this sulking fit of yours, consider it said," he added tightly.

"You led your country to victory over Orlais, you helped rebuild it and then kept it safe. You are not such a naïve and trusting fool. You have said often enough that you do not understand my naivety in believing the best of people, in my willingness to trust them too soon," Leonie argued but her anger was gone, leaving her tired and raw.

"Do you think you are the only one who has ever given trust too quickly or blindly?" Loghain asked acerbically. She didn't answer, looking down at her hands, now clasped in front of her, still holding her gloves. Finally, she looked up and met his eyes. They were not cold and sarcastic, merely pensive and weary.

"I allowed Rendon Howe to murder one of the oldest noble families in the kingdom, right down to the children. I turned a blind eye when he tortured nobles to bring them into line. I trusted him, overlooking what an asp of a human he was, trusted his goals and mine were the same; the safety of Ferelden. I can't blame him for my own arrogance or …" he stopped and looked out at fields but Leonie knew he was seeing beyond them to a time and place that still haunted him.

"Don't think I always place my trust where I should." His voice was surprisingly without bitterness, held just a deep sadness wrapped in regret. She knew the bitterness was there, would always be there, but it was buried. She knew because that was where her bitterness lived as well, down in the dark places she refused to walk in.

"So if you insist on berating yourself for trusting unwisely and believing I am somehow above such things, _girl_, you are more foolish than even I thought," he added and the sneer was back in his voice, that scalding ice that usually made her furious. Today it did not. He had trusted her with feelings he had not shared before. She would not betray that trust with an angry retort.

"I brought Orlesians into the Keep and they betrayed my trust. Do you not see the irony of that, Loghain? You, who trusts no Orlesian and I, who have spent months trying to show that we are not all the thieves and spies you believe us to be," she began and the tears were present in her voice, thick and unshed. "In the end it would seem you are correct."

Loghain snorted. "Are you going to weep and wail and carry one every time you make a mistake, Commander? If so, let me know now so I can carry around a stack of handkerchiefs." There was a twitch of lips, a current of amusement in his last statement for all that it was laced with a large amount of sarcasm.

He was right. She had taken to questioning herself so much lately. It was making her a weak and ineffective leader. And she was Warden Commander of the Grey of Ferelden. Her shoulders straightened and her chin tilted up. She could question herself but not like this, not in this belittling, destructive way. There would be time enough to disentangle the webs that had been woven around them with strands of deceit and betrayal and the secrets of her fellow Orlesians.

She met his eyes and with a tender smile said, "I hate you, in case I have not mentioned that fact to you today."

"It doesn't bear repeating, I'll just accept it as a given," he replied, stepping closer and his amusement gave way to seriousness. "You can't keep doing this every time something happens that you didn't see coming, Leonie. You are a good commander, will someday make an exceptional commander, but not if you don't trust yourself," he chastised, but not unkindly. It was high praise from him and she knew it.

"You are going to make the wrong choices sometimes. You are going to trust the wrong people sometimes. But keep this second guessing up and you won't be fit to buckle your own armor on," he reiterated.

She nodded, hated to admit how well he had come to know her, how right his words were. She reached up, brushing the wayward hair back from his forehead, pulled gently on one of his braids. "You are correct, Loghain, of course. But should you repeat that, I shall deny it vehemently," she replied, tipping her face up to his and kissing him lightly.

"Thank you," she added softly before stepping away.

"There is no reason for a manhunt. We will not find them. If Astrid is, as I suspect, a bard, she will not be found unless she chooses to be found," she continued, moving toward the steps. Loghain was still standing where she had left him and she went back to him.

"Loghain?" she asked, brows furrowing slightly. He appeared to be lost in bitter thoughts, his frown etching new lines into his face. She moved to stand in front of him and eased the lines away.

"You go on," he muttered but she stood beside him and quietly waited until his frown was truly gone and the tension had eased from his shoulders. Finally, he seemed to come back to himself and they went down the steps and into the upper floors of the Keep, still not touching but with a new closeness between them.

Once in the foyer, he turned to her. He was frowning again, a pensive look. "Does it strike you as odd that Weirmur and Astrid were not found out but they…" he began.

"Chose to steal off in the night rather than just return to Orlais with the others? Yes, I find it odd and unsettling," Leonie broke in, finishing his thought, her own frown sharply pulling at her mouth.

They moved into her office and Loghain eased his long frame into a chair by the fire. She sat across from him, rubbing her cold hands and holding them out to the warmth of the blaze.

"What was in the drawers they searched?"

"Accounts and rosters. My unfinished report to Weisshaupt. A person journal," she responded. "Ribbons, a few silvers. Nothing of great significance."

"You're sure nothing is missing? Not a quill tip or scrap of paper?" he queried.

"I am sure. However, if it will ease your mind, I will check again." He shook his head.

"A diversion?" he pondered, sitting up. "Where are the vials of blood?" he asked abruptly.

"In the cold room, warded," Leonie answered confidently. "Anders reported everything was in order this morning. I had him check when we discovered Weirmur and Astrid were missing."

"Is there anything in your personal journal that might be noteworthy?"

Leonie shook her head. She had not had time to write anything in it, the last entry was dated two month previous.

"So we still have more questions than answers," she said

"So it would seem," he agreed.

"And so it shall remain, sadly."

"I need to speak to the men, let them know they do not need to go chasing the wild goose," Leonie added, moving to the door. She heard his snicker and chose to ignore it. Whatever idiom she had mangled could wait.

Loghain went into his office and Leonie immediately went out to the courtyard and called off the search for Weirmur and Astrid. "There is no sense in wasting time and resources on such an endeavor," she told the Wardens and their relief was palpable. She wasn't sure if they were relieved that she had called off the search of because her temper was under control. Probably both, she reflected wryly.

She watched as everyone began to move off into small groups. It was a much needed boon to her spirits to see them all getting along so well. Taking a few moments, she sat down on the top step, taking in the unfolding scene. Her past and her present were mingling and it gave her a measure of calm to experience it after Astrid's betrayal.

Anders and Shaniel were discussing spells and maximizing mana efficiency in a language Leonie absolutely didn't understand. Sigrun was following Teodar around like he was the Maker and she was Andraste. If Leonie's mood wasn't so dark, she would have laughed to see the unflappable Teodar blushing at Sigrun's attention. Tamra was taking rebec lessons from Thorsen while Nathaniel looked on, snickering occasionally when she hit a particularly painful note. Alistair and Volthier were in the practice yard, sparring.

"I sent a messenger to the ship's captain and told him we would not be sailing this evening. We should be able to catch the morning tide," Laurent said, coming to rest beside her, all long limbs and charm.

"Good then we have time for a talk, yes? Come to my office in an hour," she told the man sitting quietly beside her.

Without waiting for an acknowledgement, Leonie made her way back to the Keep. She had no idea what she was going to say to him. That he was holding something back was apparent and she was not letting him return home until he answered some questions. She sat at her desk and pulled a stack of paperwork close, hoping the routine would settle her mind again. A loud rapping at her door pulled her eyes away from the paperwork moments later.

"Enter!" she called, frustrated once again. She ran her fingers through her hair. Varel entered the room.

"A message arrived for you, Commander. Apparently our messenger met one coming from Amaranthine," Varel explained, handing her a folded piece of paper bearing a plain seal of wax.

"Thank you, Varel," she murmured and broke the seal.

As she read the letter both tears and laughter fought to be released. She pressed her lips together, a dam against both, as she made her way to Loghain's door and tapped lightly on it before entering.

"Commander?" Loghain asked, looking up from his desk and at her expression, he stood and came to her. She handed the letter to him. After he read it, he handed it back to her, shaking his head slightly.

"That certainly explains a few things," he said finally.

"Yes, if you would let the men know, please."

Leonie went back to the desk, letter in hand and read it again. And then again.

_Lady Leonie,_

_Please forgive me not telling you in person but Weirmur asked me not to tell anyone. I reckon he has his reasons and I trust him. He's a good man, lest you think different, Lady Leonie._

_You once told me that it wasn't important how much time you had with someone, but the way you spent the time you had. I reckon that's true enough. Weirmur has seven years left to him. We aim to spend that time together, living a quiet life. I know you will understand._

_There's no going back for Weirmur and me, I'll not work for the likes of Leireaux or Fontayne. Nor even Laurent. He's gone daft these last months. I don't trust none of them, Lady Leonie and neither should you. It's not safe for you to go back to Orlais, no matter what Laurent claims. _

_Maker keep you, Lady Leonie.  
Your servant,_

_Astrid_

While Leonie's relief was immediate and intense, she was also surprised that a lively, lovely young woman like Astrid could fall for a taciturn, cold man like Weirmur. And if she saw any irony in that assessment, she didn't acknowledge it.


	7. Chapter 7

**None Without Guile**

As Leonie waited in her office for Laurent, she could not help but be reminded of something Riordan had once said…

_They were walking down the Grand Boulevard, arm in arm, returning to the compound after visiting the Spring Festival of Flowers. A young girl, no more than five, was standing on a corner, her chin trembling, doe eyes sad, dark brown hair curled and beribboned. She was dressed in a fine muslin gown and when Leonie and Riordan approached, the young girl began to cry in earnest. She looked to be of the middle class, her dress fine but not rich, she was clean and neat. And terribly upset. Going down on one knee, Riordan had asked where her parents were. _

"_I'm lost," she sobbed leaning against him and Riordan, looking terrified, glanced helplessly at Leonie. _

"_What do I do, Lion?" he asked, perplexed. She gave him a reassuring smile and then turned the smile on the young girl. The little thing was so sweet and innocent and in such obvious distress, it pulled at Leonie's heart._

"_Pick her up and comfort her and we'll try to find her family," Leonie explained and he did so. _

_The little girl clung to him, one small arm wound around his neck, hiccupping through her tears. But the moment they started walking down the wide boulevard, the young girl squirmed out of his arms and ran away, taking Riordan's purse with her. _

"_I shouldn't be surprised. No Orlesian is without guile, not one single person. No one," he reflected with equal amounts of embarrassment and disgust in his voice. Leonie huffed at that but then began to squirm a bit at his very pointed look. She was working in the Imperial Court of Her Highness, Empress Celene. It went without saying that she was currently up to her elbows in court intrigue. _

"_**No one**__ is without guile," he emphasized_…

And so it seemed to Leonie as she went through the list of who might be going through her things and why. She felt ill that whoever it was had to be a former colleague. As much as she had hoped otherwise it seemed more and more likely that it was, but she had no idea why. Had they already found it, whatever _it_ was? There were those among the Orlesian Wardens she just couldn't bring herself to suspect.

Teodar was one of those. While he was quiet and watchful, he was also above all else, honorable. She could no more picture him rifling through her things than she could picture Varel doing so. That he was going to Nevarra once he returned to Orlais distressed her, but if the situation was truly as dire as was intimated, she trusted that he was doing what he felt he had to. Still, knowing that so many Wardens from Orlais and Nevarra were putting their own national interests ahead of their Grey Warden duties was greatly disturbing to Leonie.

As Leonie continued down the list of Wardens, she wound up with no more idea of who it could be than when she had started. Laurent had seemed genuinely surprised when she had told him that someone was going through her possessions. Had that been a ruse? She loved Laurent every bit as much as she loved Teodar. Was it blind loyalty that made her refuse to believe either of them capable of the act? And why was Laurent so insistent she return with them? It made no sense to Leonie.

Laurent finally arrived, looking relaxed and flashing his charming smile. He flung himself into a chair with his usual elegant grace, steepling his fingers as he watched her. She knew immediately that he was playing the Game and she was more than willing to do the same if it got her the answers she needed.

"You wanted to see me privately?" he asked with a wink. "No Loghain Mac Tir to protect you?" he teased.

"As you very well know, Laurent, I am quite capable of protecting myself. But the question really is why would you believe I need protection?"

"Quite right, you need no protecting from me, sweet Lion. Perhaps you are more in danger from your Second," Laurent replied with a smirk.

Biting back the laughter at such an absurd idea, Leonie schooled her face. "Indeed? Why would you believe such a thing?"

Laurent grinned cheekily at her and shrugged. "He's Loghain Mac Tir, killer of Kings and Archdemons. Surely that's reason enough?"

Leonie refused to rise to his obvious bait. Correcting Laurent or defending Loghain would not get her anywhere, would make her look weaker and that was not something she was willing to allow. "As such I would be more concerned with _your_ health, were I you," she suggested with a roguish smile. Laurent chuckled at that.

"You are threatening to bring Mac Tir's wrath down on me?" he asked, shaking his head. "I really thought you could do better than that, Lion. All your time away from Orlais is showing," he continued, feigned sympathy in his voice.

"Or it has shown me how to play a new Game, yes?" she responded with sly smile. "You do not know me now; you cannot determine which behavior will work to secure my compliance in returning with you. I could almost feel sorry for you."

Laurent's eyes narrowed and Leonie felt a faint flicker of triumph. She had struck a nerve. He was concerned that he would fail, that he no longer understood her. She pressed her advantage.

"You make it sound as if Celene and Didier are the reasons I should return with you. You say it is my patriotic duty to do so. Celene would not send a messenger, she would send a personal plea in a private message. Didier would know I would put my duties as a Grey Warden above those of Orlais," she purred, moving toward him. She perched on the arm of his chair, looking closely at him.

"You look pale, my old friend. Surely you are not nervous," she added, bending down to peer into his eyes. He met hers unflinchingly.

"Of course not, Leo," he scoffed but said nothing further.

"If Celene and Didier did not send you as their messenger, shall I guess who did? I can only think of two who would do so but of course I have no idea how they would manage to get you to agree to it. Blackmail? Or fear? Fear, I would think."

There was just the briefest flare in his eyes, a nerve struck and Leonie stood and began to pace the room, her hands clasped behind her back, head tilted to the side. She needed time to compose her face and marshal her thoughts. Remorse and regret for what she was doing to her long time friend warred with her need to end the Game, to understand why someone wanted her to return. And then another truth struck her, so obvious she didn't know why it had taken her so long to realize it. Maker, it hurt to think him capable of such deceit, to realize that the man she had once known was not the man sitting before her now.

"They were diversions, were they not? The Challenge? The rifling through my desks. The panicked, angry response to my denial that seemed so unlike you. They were meant to keep me from concentrating on who really sent you to bring me home," she finally said, her voice husky with pain. She couldn't hide the hurt, the shock that her realization gave her. "To keep me from asking the _reason_ they want me home."

"Don't be so paranoid, Lion. I have no idea who's been going through your things," he retorted with almost the right amount of indignation and conviction in his voice. _Almost_. But Leonie had spent six years in the Imperial Court. More than enough time to learn the subtleties and inflections, the nuances, in the voice of someone who was lying.

"You are very good, Laurent. If one had not seen the Game played so often, one would be fooled by your act," Leonie said with a hint of admiration. "Really, I _was_ completely fooled. But it always seemed strange to me that nothing was ever missing from my possessions, that they were disturbed but intact."

Laurent was up, she heard the soft susurration of leather against leather as he moved. His hand fell lightly on her shoulder and she turned around to face him. There would be time for tears later, but Loghain's words were guiding her at the moment. She could not wail and weep every time she made a mistake or trusted the wrong person.

Leonie met Laurent's gaze with her own, steeling herself against the soft supplication she saw his eyes. She wanted to reach out and trace the scars along his face, scars he had suffered one terrible night in the Deep Roads, when she had thought she'd lost her friend forever. But she held herself still, refusing to give in to the plea for understanding she saw in his eyes.

"I can only imagine how desperate you must be to betray me like this," she finally said, breaking the silence but not the wall that was continuing to build between them.

She tilted her chin up again as she moved away. She had to be strong if she was going to find the answers. She discovered she was biting the inside of her cheeks to keep from crying out in protest, in pain. A sharp sweet coppery tang of blood told her she was biting too hard and she forced herself to relax her jaws.

"So, who really wants me back? The _Chevalie_r _Dirigean_t? Is DeMolay still holding that title? That would certainly be ironic, would it not?" she said with a brittle laugh. "Or perhaps High General Joubert? And why?"

Laurent tried to reach for her but she moved away, whirling to face him once she had her emotions under control again and distance between them. "It is too late to continue with this absurd charade, Laurent. Just tell me the truth now," she demanded coldly.

He had lost the Game and they both knew it. And perhaps, Leonie thought, his heart had never really been in it. She hoped that was the case. His shoulders sagged and he moved to take his seat again. Leonie couldn't sit yet, her agitation, her anger, forced her to keep pacing.

"Joubert. It's General Joubert. One of his agents brought back information that the Nevarrans are interested in you and he said it was to protect you, Lion. He showed me the report. I believed him. Or course I want to protect you, why else would I being doing this?"

Leonie found the edge of her desk with her hip and rested there to absorb the news. "Nevarrans are interested in me? Maker sakes, why?" she asked, too startled for finesse and guile. Too startled to challenge his assertion on why he had betrayed her trust.

"They've heard rumors about the power of your blood," he began and then stopped. "We all have. If you weren't living in this barbaric, Maker forsaken place, you'd have heard them too, Leo."

Heart beating furiously against the confines of her chest, Leonie found it impossible to speak for long minutes. Her blood. Always it came back to her blood. But what rumors? She moved to sink into the chair across from Laurent as she tried to bring her shock under control.

"Do not stop there, Laurent. Tell me everything," she instructed in a voice that was as dangerous as it was calm.

"Joubert came to me with the report, told me that the Nevarrans believe your blood can be used as a weapon, that it holds some special properties. They want to take you into custody and find out what that power is. Joubert wants you to return home and assign a security detail to you, to prevent the Nevarrans from doing so."

The room was tilting at an alarming angle and she found her vision was fuzzy, her skin clammy. For a wild moment she thought she would faint as the shock of his words penetrated her brain. She took a number of deep breaths. The absurdity of the situation helped push away the panic that his words had caused.

"So you wish to take me back to Orlais to use my blood instead?" she finally asked to break the stale silence.

"Maker, Leo! You don't really think that, do you?" Laurent cried, offended. He stood up and came to kneel beside her chair. He took her hand in his and squeezed it, as if to offer her comfort. Leonie looked down at their clasped hands and then back at him.

"This is me! I am the same Laurent I have always been. I'm your friend! You know me, you know I wouldn't let anyone hurt you," he continued in a soft, persuasive voice. "Joubert wants you back so we can _protect_ you, to prevent the Nevarrans from abducting you, of harvesting your blood as a weapon."

Leonie's laugh was bitter. "You were never so naïve before, Laurent. Do not think for a minute that the head of the Orlesian army wants to protect me. He wants my blood in case the rumors are true. And if he believes that my blood has some sort of power, he will bleed me dry," she said and the bitterness of her laugh was reflected in her voice.

"What has Joubert done to make you so willing to send me to prison, or worse, my death? Tell me, what the going rate is for such a betrayal, Laurent?" she finally asked when she could trust her voice not to break as her heart was.

Laurent squeezed her hand again and then brought it to his lips. "He only had to point out what would happen to Orlais if we lose a war with Navarra. I see it as my duty, Lion, and a way of protecting you from the Nevarrans who would abduct you, harm you," he said and she almost believed the sincerity of his belief. Or maybe he actually did believe he was protecting her. She would rather believe that then the alternative.

"And your duty to the Grey Wardens? Does that no longer supersede your duty to Orlais? Can you so easily betray the sacrifices of all those who went before you?" she asked in a voice going husky with the tears she was holding back through sheer force of will and her stubborn pride. The more emotion she showed, the more of a weapon it became in Laurent's hands. He remained silent, no longer willing to meet her gaze.

"There is nothing in my blood. You heard the report from Weisshaupt, you were there when Didier read it. So you betrayed me for nothing," she whispered, anguish wrapping around her words and heart, suffocating her.

Laurent's face paled, his scars standing in stark relief. She wanted to wake up from the growing nightmare. She wanted to look at Laurent and see her old friend, her comrade, her fellow Grey Warden. She saw only a stranger. She removed her hand from his and stood up again.

"Andraste's arse, woman! I have seen you in the throes of an Architect induced nightmare. You were connected to him. Your blood does have some power. Most of the Wardens in Orlais believe that. And some of those Wardens are now in Nevarra, assisting the Nevarran armies. If they were to discover what makes your blood so important, if they could unlock the secrets of it, Orlais would be destroyed!" Laurent exclaimed angrily.

"Whatever power that was within my blood died when I killed the Architect, Laurent. If you had been honest with me, talked to me about these things, I could have told you that," Leonie replied, the hurt a tight knot in her chest. Laurent remained quiet after his outburst.

"And should you go back to Orlais without me? What happens to you?" she asked, not entirely sure she wanted to know.

"I don't know. I convinced myself you would come back," he answered simply. "I suppose he'll have me killed on some pretext or another. He doesn't want anyone to know he actually believes the rumors, it would weaken his position as the head of Orlesian forces."

Leonie's mind was carefully sifting through options as she paced the room again. She stopped once more in front of Laurent. Her heart and mind were at war. A headache screamed at the base of her skull and her stomach was roiling. It was shock, she kept telling herself.

"You have one hour to gather your gear and men and leave. Before you go, I will have my healer draw a vial of blood for you to take back to Joubert. Do not worry, I will do so in front of you and the other Wardens so there can be no doubt as to its authenticity. Let Joubert's best people examine it. They will find there is nothing special in my blood. And you will discover that you have betrayed me for no reason. Live with that, Laurent," she finished bitterly.

Laurent opened his mouth and Leonie pushed her fingers against his lips. "You have nothing more to say that I would want to hear," she assured him, removing her fingers.

"One hour," she reminded him and turned her back on him. The door closed with a soft whine of metal hinges.

Her shoulders sagged and her breath came out in a long, lonely sigh. Some day she was sure she would find a certain irony in the events that had transpired throughout the day but now was not that time. Now she had to manage to get through the remainder of the day. Somehow.

Leonie walked over to the door that separated her office from Loghain's and quietly opened it to find Loghain standing there, an angry scowl on his face. "So you were able to hear the entire meeting, yes?" she asked, leaning against the door jamb for support as her legs felt like they no longer wanted to carry her.

"I was," Loghain replied grimly. "I ought to kill that bastard," he snarled, fists clenched.

"And risk having even more Orlesians invade?' she asked with a shaky laugh. Even she heard the tinny sound of hysteria edging her laughter.

Leonie looked up to find Loghain watching her. He was concerned and she saw the sympathy in his expression before she let her eyes drop. All her confidence, her strength would be lost if she allowed herself to rely on him now, but it was so tempting to just rest her head against his chest, to hear the steady, reassuring beat of his heart against her ear.

"Now, we must find Anders, yes?" she said, wrapping her stubborn pride around her like a cloak.

Anders was in his room and when Leonie explained what she needed, his eyes widened. "What's going on?" he asked, both suspicious and curious. She patted his cheek with a grim smile.

"We shall talk later, Anders, but now is not the time," Leonie said, trying to reassure him.

She left both men to make her way to her room a few minutes later, rubbing her thumb across her palm thoughtfully. She had to stay centered, to stay focused until after the Orlesians departed. But it was difficult to put the tumultuous thoughts and feelings away for the time being, they persisted in beating at her from within, crying plaintively to be heard. She continued to ruthlessly tamp them down. She would be Maker damned if she was going to borrow a handkerchief from Loghain.

Time crept forward as she continued her restless pacing and her emotions continued their relentless assault on her heart. When she heard the tap at her door, Leonie Caron, the Lion of Orlais, straightened her shoulders and answered the knock with surprisingly dry eyes. Loghain escorted her downstairs, saying nothing, standing near without touching her. She was grateful for both his presence and his presence of mind in not offering her physical support. It would be her undoing should she lean on him, so tightly held together she could almost hear her nerves snapping.

"So, my Orlesian brothers, the time has come for your departure. It has been a great honor and privilege to have you as guests of the Ferelden Grey. Should any of you ever need a home with us, know that you will be welcomed," Leonie said, standing before the assembled Orlesian Wardens. Her Wardens fell in behind her and she was grateful they were there, finding solace and comfort in their steadying proximity.

"Warden Commander Leonie Caron, we thank you for your warmth and hospitality," Laurent said cordially and then stepped closer. Loghain stepped closer as well and Anders came to stand directly in front of her.

Leonie held her arm out, palm down and Anders brought out a vial and a small knife, blade caught gleaming in the sun. Loghain took her wrist in his and pressed tightly as Anders quickly made a small incision. Crimson drops of blood splattered on the stone as the vial was filled. With a whispered caress of healing magic, Anders stepped back and Leonie handed the stoppered vial to Laurent.

"I do not think we shall see each other again, Laurent," she whispered and lightly stroked his cheek. "But once I was honored to call you brother and I shall remember that time and not this."

Laurent nodded solemnly and then bent to touch his lips to her cheek. "I too will remember those times, Lion. Someday I hope you will understand and forgive me for what I felt I had to do."

Tears began to sting the back of her throat and she nodded once before he stepped away. Each Orlesian Warden in turn came to say their goodbyes. It became more difficult for Leonie to contain her tears.

Finally Teodar came to embrace her and she held him tightly to her. Taking great care, she surreptitiously slipped a vial into his pocket.

"Give this to your leaders. Tell them it is my blood," she instructed softly into his ear. He looked confused at that but she smiled gently. "They will know what it means," she assured him. He nodded and then stepped back.

Long after the Orlesian Wardens had marched out of sight, Leonie continued to stare after them. Her Wardens were dispersing but Loghain and Anders stood there with her. Her tears, still held in check by iron will, would not be content to remain so much longer.

"How long do you think it will take them to realize it isn't your blood?" Anders asked.

"With any luck they will never figure it out, Anders. But at the very least, this may allow _us_ time to learn the secrets of my blood," Leonie replied quietly.

"Thank you for your willingness to offer up _your_ blood, Loghain. There is a certain irony in once again besting the Orlesians, yes?" she added, turning a weak smile in Loghain's direction.

"It's not the first blood I've shed fighting Orlesians. I doubt it will be the last." he agreed dryly.

"Anders, you would make a fine bard with your light hands. Even I could not discern whose blood was filling that vial," she complimented the mage, who grinned.

"No worries, dear leader. Although I am curious about it all."

"Tomorrow, yes? Tonight I am going to take a bottle of Antivan brandy to my room and quietly drink myself into a pleasant numbness," Leonie responded in a tone far lighter than she felt.

"Are you sure that's a good idea, Commander?" Loghain asked sharply. Leonie paused and put a light hand out to cup his cheek.

"It is absolutely the best idea, Loghain," she replied. "I shall see you all in the morning."

And digging into the last of her energy, Leonie kept her tread light, her shoulders straight and her chin high as she made her way up the curving stairs case. Valiantly pushing away guilt at tricking an unsuspecting Teodar, she hoped fervently that the mystery of her blood would be solved long before he became aware of his unwitting role in the Game.

She entered her room and quietly locked the door behind her, trying to also lock out the guilt and hurt that were crowding away other thoughts. She was a master at the Game and it gave her no sense of peace or pride to realize that.

Perhaps Riordan was right. Perhaps no one was without guile. It was that thought that finally freed her pent up tears.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: **_My continued thanks to all those who have put this story on alert and favorited it, and who lurk and who review. It brightens my day so much to know you are enjoying Leonie's story. _

**_Demon Slaying_**

Creeping quietly along the darkened hall, Leonie heard only the soft creak of the old wooden floor beneath her bare feet and the murmuring winds embracing the Keep like a mother holding her child and crooning, an oddly comforting sound. Leonie had no idea how late it was, only that the sun had long ago given up its hold on the day and morning was still hours away.

A soft tap at Loghain's door garnered no response. She carefully tried the door and it opened with little protest. The fire in the grate was low and the room shadowed. Loghain's deep, even breathing emanated from the bed and she knew, without looking, that he would be sleeping on his back, one arm bent at the elbow, flung carelessly over his head; an open, boyish pose so at odds with the tightly coiled tension when he was awake. Her lips curved into a tender smile. There was an almost innocent and carefree air about him when he slept soundly, as if he reverted back to a time in his life when he hadn't carried the burdens of command and duty upon his shoulders. Some day she hoped he would open up to her about his childhood. She knew there was a darkness there, something he couldn't bring himself to tell her. She was content, for now, to wait until he felt comfortable enough with her to do so without her prodding.

She sank down on the floor in front of the hearth, legs tucked under her. The warmth of the fire, the comfort of Loghain's breathing, brought with it a sense of peace, an anchor holding her in place when her instincts told her to leave Ferelden. She was not afraid for herself. She was concerned that staying in Ferelden would be a constant threat to the others. It was that concern that had torn her from the quietness of her dreams.

"If you're looking for more brandy, you're destined for disappointment," Loghain said in a groggy, sleep roughened voice.

"It may surprise you to know that I did not even open the bottle," she replied crisply. "Now go back to sleep," she ordered but it was too late. She heard the rustle of blankets and his bare feet striking the floor with a soft thud.

He brought a blanket with him and sat down behind her, wrapping his arms and the blanket around her as he settled her between his thighs. "I suppose you have a reason for creeping into my room," he rumbled once they were both settled to his satisfaction.

"I do but I shall not tell you, it will only serve to inflate your already considerable ego," she replied with a smile.

"Indeed?" he asked, and even without looking she knew he was wearing a smug smirk, it coated the word.

"It is your heat I crave," she began and could almost feel his chest puff out, his smirk deepen.

"I let my fire go out and my room is freezing," she added, a smile twitching at her lips. "And I knew that your room would be nice and warm. It is something peculiar to older people, I have noticed, their need to always keep warm."

A snort of amusement brushed across her cheek. "Impudent chit," he muttered as she leaned back and closed her eyes. His chest was rising and falling with a steady rhythm that soothed her.

"Irritating man," she replied affectionately. She squeezed his thigh lightly. "I find it amazing that I can love you as deeply as I do, considering just how irascible you are," she added, nestling into his warmth.

"Indeed?" he queried and she heard the smirk return to his lips. She chuckled but didn't respond, finding herself too relaxed.

"Now that we have established you have no other motive for entering my room, I suggest we go to bed and get some sleep," he finally said, after long moments of contented silence had passed. She would have been happy to stay there, wrapped within his warmth for hours.

"Loghain, I have been thinking," Leonie began but she felt him shake his head.

"No good comes from thinking in the middle of the night," he countered as they made their way to bed.

"I suppose it can wait until morning," she agreed as drowsiness overcame her need to argue with him. She curled up against him as she closed her eyes and let her thoughts escape into the shadows.

Loghain was shaving when she finally woke up in the morning. The light through the window was grey and bleak and she could hear the sharp slap of heavy rain on the windowpane. Slipping out of bed, she found her way to the warmth of the now crackling fire that was devouring wood with merry abandon.

Coming out of the bathroom bare-chested and still drying his face, Loghain moved across the room to join her. "You really didn't drink any brandy, did you?" he asked, studying her with a puzzled frown.

"Does that disappoint you, my dear Loghain?" she teased, pulling at his waistband until he sat down on the arm of her chair.

"I expected you to be more emotional," he confessed quietly.

"To what end? Did you not tell me yourself that you had only a limited supply of handkerchiefs?" she responded, not yet willing to be serious. The day was too young to be marred by the glum thoughts that still lay sleeping.

"I did. I find it remarkable that you listened," he agreed, following her lead. But she saw the worry in his expression, a flicker of it and then it was gone.

He moved to finish dressing and she helped him, brushing his hair and braiding it quickly. He eyed her with a raised brow when she had finished. She was still in her nightdress. With a smile and a shrug, Leonie gave him a hurried kiss and went back to her room and began to dress for a busy day.

Aura had joined the Wardens for breakfast as they all gathered around the Warden's Roost and Leonie paused in the doorway, smiling. Pregnancy suited Aura, much the way it seemed to suit Bann Delilah. Aura's cheeks glowed, the color of summer peaches. Her smile, which had been lost with the news of Kristoff, was back in place, a soft, radiant smile that lit up her blue eyes, brought out a shy dimple in one cheek. She was wearing loose fitting clothes now, white kirtles and simple overdresses. With an almost unconscious gesture, she often touched her stomach, as if to reassure herself that her baby was well.

Leonie felt an odd pull of envy that came to her at times when she saw a mother-to-be or a young baby. It was not sharp, just a dull little twinge that never lasted long. For most of her life Leonie had known she would be a Grey Warden and she knew that meant there would be no children for her. Still, she found she was looking forward to the baby's arrival.

"Good morning," she greeted.

"Good morning, Lion! You look remarkably chipper for someone who drank an entire bottle of brandy last night!" Anders yelled.

"There is no need to yell, Anders. I did not drink any brandy and thus feel quite well this morning," Leonie reassured him and laughed at his look of disappointment.

As she helped herself to a large portion of fried flatcakes and honey, Leonie sat down next to Sigrun, who was gazing off into space with a small grin. "Do you think we'll get to see Te…the other Wardens again?" she asked.

Leonie's good mood evaporated. "I do not think such a thing will happen soon," she finally answered, forcing herself to smile as she spoke. "But I will explain at our meeting," she added and then pushed her half eaten breakfast away.

"One hour, please," she instructed and quickly made her way out of the dining hall, tears at the ready. She dashed them away. She was not going to cry over yesterday's events. She. Was. Not.

There was little hope of seeing her friends again. She wondered, as she made her way to her office, if she was any better than Laurent. Had she not betrayed Teodar's trust in order to save herself from the Nevarrans? Her office door opened with a bang as it hit the wall. She could have told him, could have explained what was happening. There was every chance he would have suggested she do exactly what she did but she had given him no opportunity. She slammed the door and swept around the room in long strides, leaving a stream of curses in her wake.

"Ah, so you do feel some emotion about this," Loghain said, standing between their offices, arms crossed.

"Do not say anything," she advised in a low hiss. "I do not wish to discuss this."

"Far be it from me to interrupt a perfectly good temper tantrum," he said coolly and continued watching her. Was he trying to provoke her? Leonie gritted her teeth.

Finally Leonie stopped her agitated pacing and swearing and rubbed her temples with her fingers. "It is not a temper tantrum, Loghain. I am just angry," she finally explained and then shook her head. "I betrayed a friend because another friend betrayed me. Have I mentioned how loathsome I find such an act?" she continued, resuming her pacing. "And I need a bigger office!" she cried, frustrated as she once again banged her hip into her desk.

"Then talk about it," he urged again quietly. She shot him a glare. Why was he insisting on talking about what could not be changed? She frowned and shook her head again. And did he not see the hypocrisy of demanding she talk about her feelings when he did not?

"I will be fine in a moment," she replied.

Loghain watched her as she paced again, and she stopped in front of him. "I am fine, Loghain. There is nothing which needs discussing," she reiterated, trying to convince them both. She took a deep breath and then another, gave him a tight, thin smile.

"See? I am fine, Loghain," she repeated in a quieter voice. She moved to her desk.

"You think to be like me, do you?" he sneered and she whirled around, hands fisted on her hips.

"I think it is time I stop weeping and wailing, as you so eloquently put it," she replied sarcastically.

They stared at each other and Leonie held her ground. She was not going to talk about it and she was not going to, by the Maker, weep or wail. She did what had to be done. She clenched her jaws and tilted her chin defiantly.

"Come with me," he finally ordered, pulling her along the hallway and into the sparring room off the armory so quickly that Leonie was too surprised to protest. He chose two blunted longswords and offered her one before turning and locking the door. He pocketed the key.

"I'll open that door when you defeat me, not before," he said grimly.

Leonie stared at him, furious. "I shall not duel you, Loghain," she hissed but he was already taking up a stance. He moved forward, hand extended, sword gripped tightly.

"You'll do it or you'll be here all bloody day," he replied coldly.

He thrust and she automatically brought her sword up and parried, riposted and closed her stance as years of training overcame her surprise and reluctance. She spun as he counterattacked. The blunted steel of their blades clashed as he extended and she disengaged, stepping back and opening her stance slightly, trying to loosen her shoulders but he pressed, catching the inside of her blade and flicked. His blade screamed along hers, controlling both of them. She was in danger of losing her sword.

Taking a deep breath, she spun and circled around before performing a double lunge but he parried, slapping her sword away with the flat of his. Her sword arm protested as the motion reverberated along her blade and into her very bones. She grunted and spun away again. He may have her on strength and reach but she was lighter and more agile.

"Pay attention," he growled at her and hit at her sword arm again but this time she was expecting it and dropped low, thrusting upward, catching his sword and pressing him back before disengaging and moving back.

"Why are you doing this?" she asked, bewildered.

She lowered her guard, waiting for his answer. He pushed his attack, his face pale and closed. He seemed like a stranger and she felt as if somehow they were enemies once again, as if somehow they were back at the very beginning but she had little time to think about why because he was unrelenting as he continued to press his attack.

She could see the sweat gathering on his forehead, knew she was also sweating, could feel the sting of it in her eyes. Her anger mounted. She did not want to fight him, she wanted to break something. She wanted to go on as before, she didn't want to revisit the betrayal of friends. She lunged but he parried and then, as her sword caught his inner edge, he counter beat, pushing the attack hard until she was falling back.

"You think you are the only one who's ever been betrayed? Or betrayed someone you cared about?" he ground out, his face tight and angry. Leonie stumbled. Loghain picked her off, flicking her sword away and shoving her. She landed in an inelegant heap and he pressed his sword against the hollow of her throat.

"Get up," he commanded coldly and she rolled away to stand, refusing the hand he offered.

Picking up her sword, she glared at him. "I will remind you who is in command here," she hissed.

"Until you defeat me, neither of us is in command," he countered, bringing his sword up again. She huffed and then took a deep, steadying breath.

"So you think to make me feel better by attacking me?" she asked derisively, eyebrow arched.

She extended her arm, standing on the balls of her feet, trying to keep her shoulders loose and relaxed. "Is that a Ferelden form of comfort?" she mocked. His lips tightened into a grim line.

"Maric fancied himself in love with an elven woman once," Loghain began and immediately lunged. She parried and turned with a redoublement. He swung away and brought his sword down across her wrist. She cried out, her fury growing. She brought her arm up, extended and pressed, her blade controlling his as she pressed forward. Her wrist was screaming in pain but she tried to ignore it.

"What has that to do with anything?" she asked, confused and breathless as she lowered her shoulders and spun away when he counterattacked again.

"She betrayed him, betrayed us all at West Hills but he wouldn't believe it," he panted, his face twisting with bitterness. "An _Orlesian_ bard," he growled and his fury, so cold and controlled, matched her own blazing fury in intensity.

Leonie turned on her heel and brought her sword straight up, catching him on his chin and his head snapped back. A welt formed immediately, a small trickle of blood a spot of red against his pale skin.

"Of course Orlesian!" she shouted, tears blinding her suddenly. She swiped at them with her left hand as she lunged again.

"We have no soul, you see. We are none of us without guile," she said bitterly and swatted at him with her sword, but he countered, pressing until she fell back.

"I told him, I made him kill her," he hissed, cold sheathing his words, glittering like ice chips in his eyes, as he swung his sword up. She stepped back quickly and then crouched as he swung his sword up.

"You think you are the only one," he said again and his sword was an arc above her. She dropped and rolled, kicking at his ankle. He stumbled and she threw herself at him, knocking him to the ground and her momentum brought her down on top of him. Her tears were falling harder now, scalding her overheated skin. Her breath was coming in hard gulps, she felt like her lungs were burning. He wasn't battling her, he was battling himself, she thought and felt her anger and pity merging into a murky pool of newly formed tears.

"Do not," she begged, pressing her lips to his, not wanting to hear him rip himself apart because of her pain. "Do not," she said again, tears falling on his face, mingling with his sweat. He rolled them over and his mouth found hers, hard and demanding.

He straddled her, his face a mask of cold rage. "Duty," he bit out and lowered his mouth to hers again in a searing kiss. "And we'll do it again if duty demands," he said, pulling away and standing unsteadily. She rolled over, her breath coming in short sobs.

"You and I are not so different," he added as he picked up his sword. "And you have yet to defeat me," he continued but there was less ice, less cold rage. She reached for her sword.

"I do not have to defeat you, Loghain. You are defeating yourself," she began and parried his sudden attack. "I shall recover, a few tears, a bit of screaming and I shall move on," she panted as she riposted and slammed her sword down on his sword arm. His face paled and he grunted as his sword hung loosely. She brought her sword up to his throat but he recovered and swept his sword up to catch her inside edge, pushing, and she could feel the scream of her muscles protesting as she tried to hold the edge. She moved back with clumsy steps.

"You carry it around inside you, where it constantly festers and you will not allow yourself to be free of it," she hissed, spinning on the balls for her feet and bringing her sword out, fully extending it as she lunged. She caught him off guard and she pressed, moving in, holding firm until the blunted point was at his bared throat.

"I have defeated you," she said and threw her sword down, dropping to her knees. Her sobs shook her as she knelt there, the air pungent with their sweat and blood, the anger falling away from her with each tear that fell.

He knelt beside her, gathering her close. "No, Commander, you have defeated your demon," he said against her hair.

She wondered, as he held her, his voice unsteady with emotion and weariness, if he had not defeated a demon as well.


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: **_Sorry for the slower updates. Unexpected company has come to visit. _

**The Best Laid Plans**

Varel was curious. Leonie could see it in his eyes as he stood before her. No doubt she was a sight, with her hair wild and damp with sweat, her face still red from exertion and her eyes and nose even more so from her tears. Her shoulder wound was aching but had not opened up again, which was a small blessing. Bruises were forming on her wrist and her muscles were all arguing with her every time she moved. Her consolation was that Loghain looked no better. He had already gone upstairs to change.

"Is there anything else, Commander?" Varel asked in his courteous, professional voice. His eyes was studiously avoiding her face, looking somewhere over her left shoulder.

"Distribute the additional grain and food to the neediest of the families. Have Alec and Maverlies escort the wagon. Caution them not to be overly generous until all those in need have received some food."

"Yes, Commander."

Leonie sighed. "Varel, my dear man, you may call me Leonie. You _have_ called me Leonie," she reminded him but his smile, there and gone, told her that would not happen.

"I would like for you to join us. The news I wish to convey to the Wardens affects you as well."

"As you wish, Commander," he responded with another fleeting smile.

With a slight bow, he left and Leonie immediately went upstairs to clean up. She had pushed the meeting back an hour, which meant she had enough time for a bath, if she didn't linger. She was back downstairs, dressed in her Warden leathers, hair neatly brushed and all outward traces of her tears scrubbed away forty minutes later.

Loghain was in his office, bearing a small welt and cut where her sword had caught his chin. "You wield a strong blade," he said wryly when he noticed Leonie's gaze lingering on his chin.

"As do you," she assured him, rubbing her wrist as she flashed a smile.

"I think after the meeting we should start formalizing a recruitment plan," she continued. "And we are going to have to speed up the repairs on the Keep. Voldrik will no doubt complain that such a feat is not possible but we shall convince him otherwise, yes?"

"Agreed. We can't be sure how long it will take the Nevarrans or the Orlesians to discover the blood in those vials was not yours," Loghain concurred, coming out from behind his desk.

"It is my hope that we discover the secrets in my blood before they discover the secrets of _your_ blood. I would wish to be a mouse within their pocket when they discover it is not my blood," Leonie responded with a mischievous smile.

"You have a very odd sense of humor," he remarked. He entered her office, sitting down in his usual chair as they waited for the other Wardens to arrive.

"And you suppose I have not been told such a thing before now?" she asked with wry grin.

"I suspect it's been said frequently," he replied with the ghost of a smirk.

Her Wardens entered her office en masse, looking from Loghain to Leonie and back, as if to discern what had occurred. Leonie gave them a bright smile and bade them sit. Aura brought in a tray laden with mugs of tea and fresh blackberry tarts. Leonie waited until everyone was seated before she began to speak. It took her over an hour to explain the entire situation. During that time, she watched her Wardens for their reactions which were, unsurprisingly, as varied as the Wardens themselves. It was Alistair's reaction that was the most interesting. Rather than appalled or disgusted or disappointed or downright angry about Laurent's betrayal, he looked deep in thought.

"What is it, Alistair?" she asked, motioning for silence.

"When we were cleaning out Soldier's Peak, we discovered a blood mage there. He was over two hundred years old," Alistair began and then stopped, rubbing at his forehead as if to purge it of unpleasant memories.

Of course the room erupted again. Anders was making the most noise. "Please tell me you killed him," he begged but Alistair shook his head.

"Phindar," he began and then shot an angry glare at Loghain, who ignored it. "Phindar was fascinated by him and the – the experiments that Avernus had conducted. He wouldn't allow us to kill him, though Maker knows Wynne and I wanted to. He's at Soldier's Peak, if he's still alive. Phindar made him promise to stop using blood magic. Phin left him there to continue his research in a more – humane way," Alistair finished, his revulsion of the blood mage apparent in both voice and expression.

"Please, Alistair, tell us the whole of it," she commanded.

There was complete silence on the part of the other Wardens as Alistair explained how they had found Soldier's Peak, with the help of a member of the Dryden family, how they had killed the demons and, with Avernus's help, mended the tear in the Veil. There was more to the story, Leonie could tell from the expression on Alistair's face, he was pale and there was an edge of anger still. Something had happened at Soldier's Peak that had hurt him on a personal level. He holds too tightly to his hurts, she thought as she watched him.

"I have not heard of this before. Was a report sent to Weisshaupt?" Leonie asked, as intrigued as she was revolted by the notion that a blood mage had experimented with Warden blood. _Whatever it takes, no matter the cost_. How many more times would she be forced to accept the extremes to which other Wardens took that? How many more times would she herself have to contemplate how far she was willing to take it?

"Phin said he was going to let Weisshaupt know but I – I left shortly after that," Alistair said, his cheeks stained red. "I don't know if he did or not."

"I believe he did, Commander. Mistress Woolsey mentioned it once in one of her financial reports. I would suggest you ask her," Varel interjected with his quiet authority.

There was a lull in conversation then and Leonie sipped her tea, glad of the sudden silence. Her own thoughts were running amok. A laboratory for blood research was a boon she had not expected. That it came with an ancient blood mage that was probably housing an abomination was horrifying. Was there ever an easy answer, a quick solution? It appeared not.

"Where is this Soldier's Peak?" she finally asked.

"Oh no, Lion. Don't tell me you're going to use a blood mage to help us!" Anders cried in dismay.

Leonie sighed. It was unthinkable and morally repugnant. It was the practical, pragmatic thing to do. There was that voice speaking to her, the one she hated, that was telling her the opportunity should not be passed up, even though her heart was screaming that it was absolutely grotesque to use a blood mage who had tortured Wardens. She could feel the eyes of all in the room resting on her as she weighed her decision.

"I will be writing to a colleague in Weisshaupt, a Warden mage, who has been working on the mystery of the Architect and his powers for many years. She has also done some research into my blood," Leonie began to explain.

"I would send my blood, and much of the Architect's blood, to her but with this threat of war between Orlais and Nevarra, such an endeavor becomes dangerous and risky," she continued but Anders interrupted.

"I have a friend, well an acquaintance really, at the circle. He's a brilliant alchemist. If he's still talking to me, I can get him here. Or rather, I can send a message with someone that will get him here. I'm not going anywhere near Irving and that damned tower," Anders finished emphatically. "His name is Jarren Tabris."

"Will this person be willing to work with a blood mage?" she asked quietly. Anders looked ready to argue with her and she waved a hand at him, motioning him to be silent.

"Anders, we must determine what is in my blood that would make Orlais and Nevarra risk so much to obtain it. It is most likely nothing but we cannot take the chance. I do not say this for my sake but for the sake of all of you and Ferelden. I am sure it sounds melodramatic but the real risk is if there truly is something in my blood. We do not know what lengths they will go to, once they discover the blood given them is not mine. We must be prepared."

Anders nodded unhappily and Leonie felt a tug of sympathy for him, felt a softening as she gave him a reassuring smile. "I know you do not wish it, Anders, but there are times when the difficult choices are the only ones that make sense, yes?"

"Just don't ask me to work with him, Lion," he grumbled but his tone was less strident.

The enormity of the problem hit her like a physical blow. They would need to let Bann Delilah know so that she could prepare the city of Amaranthine. She would have to let Queen Anora know as well. That was an unhappy thought. Their last meeting had been as cold as a Ferelden winter. She supposed that Teyrn Cousland would have to be told as well. And that would start a discussion about the Howe family that she was not sure she wanted to have with so many other things to concentrate on. Above all, they must keep the reason for the precautions quiet. No good would come from having those within Ferelden know they had bargaining power with Orlais or Nevarra because of her. Laughter bubbled up and she pushed it away, pushing her knuckles against her mouth. All of this on a possibility, on mere speculation. It seemed wildly improbable and fantastical. If someone were to come to her with such a tale, she would laugh them out of the room. Yet here she was, contemplating how to tell the Queen of Ferelden and others about the incredible plot.

"It is imperative that none of you share this news, yes? We may tell them that the Orlesian Wardens passed on useful information regarding the growing tensions between Orlais and Nevarra but under no circumstances are you to discuss what either is after. Is that clear?" she asked sternly.

Another thought, filtering slowly down to sit heavily in her heart, robbing the breath from her lungs. She couldn't be captured. Her alternatives were to make her way to Weisshaupt via ship to the Anderfels, or go into hiding. She didn't want to do either but she might have little choice. She had asked so much of her Wardens already, she would not ask them to kill her again should it come to that. She sighed. She would have to start carrying the vial of poison with her again; she would not risk being captured.

"I will have the assignments prepared in an hour. Dismissed," she said finally and watched as they filed out.

Loghain remained behind. She went to him, kneeling beside his chair. "I have so few choices, Loghain. You know this. I can go to Weisshaupt or I can go into hiding and with either option, I will need to keep my vial of poison with me," she told him. Sighing, she laid her cheek against his leg and felt his hand come to rest lightly on her head.

"You aren't alone in this," he reminded her quietly.

"I had such hope when I finally confronted the Architect. I was sure that when I killed him it would be the end of it. But he died too easily. That is what frightens me. I keep replaying his death in my mind and it is always the same. He died too easily. He haunted my dreams for ten years, tormented me in my nightmares and then he just stood there, a mage of incredible power, and he let me kill him. Why?" she asked, raising her head and looking into his eyes, searching for answers that were not there.

"We need to examine his notes and journals. The answer is in there, Leonie. We'll find it," Loghain said with a quiet confidence that fed her dwindling hope.

"You are right, of course," she finally agreed, pushing herself up and her morbid thoughts away. She went to her desk, picked up her quill and began to write.

"Nathaniel and Tamra should visit Delilah. She will take the news from him with an easier heart, yes? I want to send Aura with them. She would benefit from speaking with another woman who shares her same condition," she continued, making notes on a new vellum.

"As soon as Nathaniel and Tamra return, I want you to go to Kinloch Hold and find this mage, Jarren Tabris. If he shows promise as a Warden, recruit him. If the Senior Enchanter will not release him, I will give you the Right of Conscription Order," she began without looking up. "Sigrun should go with you. I do not wish to have any of us traveling alone.

"Alistair and I will make our way to Soldier's Peak and visit with this blood mage. It is perhaps…" she began and then paused, taking a deep breath to steady her voice which had an odd quaver in it. "It is perhaps best if I remain there. From Alistair's description it is a well protected place."

"I think that's a bit premature, Commander. We don't know that anything will come of this. If it does, we can deal with it then," he disagreed calmly.

Leonie opened her mouth to argue but then closed it. After their dual, she was not yet ready to spar verbally with Loghain. "We shall discuss that later. I want to speak with Mistress Woolsey. I wish she had told me about Soldier's Peak. I wish, actually, that Weisshaupt would have mentioned it before I arrived here. Damn them and their secrets," she added with no small amount of anger.

Mistress Woolsey, known as "Mistress Woeful" to all of the Wardens, courtesy of Sigrun, was in her cramped office going over the treasury reports. She looked up with a frown at being interrupted but the frown smoothed out when she saw who it was.

"Warden Commander," she greeted distantly.

"Mistress Woolsey, please tell me what you know of Soldier's Peak," Leonie began without preamble, her displeasure on display in the glower she sent the older woman's way.

The grey haired woman's mouth puckered and she looked about to take umbrage with Leonie's tone but Leonie leaned across Woolsey's desk. "I understand you do not work for me, that you work for the First Warden. Do not think he shall escape my ire, but you should have made mention of Soldier's Peak immediately," Leonie said, forestalling the woman.

"It's no secret, Warden Commander. You need only have asked," Mistress Woolsey finally said stiffly.

Leonie snorted. "I was to ask you about Soldier's Peak when I did not know of its existence?" she asked scornfully.

"I didn't mention it because you didn't mention it, Warden Commander," the woman began in a reasonable voice and Leonie cut her off again.

"When next you write to First Warden Magnus, inform him that you shall no longer oversee the treasury. Tell him there has been a change of plans. I will have someone else, someone with the best interest of the Fereldan Wardens, replace you." Leonie's voice was low and taut.

"And do not worry, Woolsey, I too shall inform him. In the meantime, you will be shown the account ledgers, but you shall not distribute the funds. Is that clear?" Leonie demanded.

The older woman shook her head. "I do what I am ordered to, Warden Commander, and my orders come from a higher authority."

"In truth, Woolsey, your orders are what I say they are at this moment. Weisshaupt is a great distance and it will take a very, very, very long time for word to reach them of this new arrangement and even longer for word to return from Magnus."

As she left Woolsey's office in search of Varel, Leonie was seething. Had Magnus learned nothing about the dangers of withholding information? She knew she was probably being unfair to Woolsey, that the older woman was doing what she had been instructed to do by Weisshaupt but Leonie had enough worries without wondering what Woolsey was communicating to the First Warden and what other secrets she might be carrying around in her sour little head. Another thought crowded in, demanding to be heard. She had never actually seen Woolsey's orders from Weisshaupt. Had Varel? A new worry, a new suspicion began to form in her brain, knotting her stomach. Was Woolsey even who she said she was?

"Varel, a moment," Leonie said, entering the seneschal's office. She noted with no small amount of envy, how neat and orderly Varel's office was. Her own looked like a child's playroom at the end of the day, chaotic and disorganized.

"Yes, Commander," Varel said, standing immediately. She waved him back into his chair and plunked down in the one directly across from him.

"Did you ever actually see Woolsey's orders from Weisshaupt?" she asked quietly, trying to keep the growing anxiety from her voice.

"Yes, Commander. They appeared genuine. Is there a problem?" Varel asked, his usual solid, steadying voice acting as a balm on Leonie's disquiet.

"I am not entirely sure," she began and then continued, "Varel, I want you to find the smallest, most obscure and out of the way office within the Keep. Install Mistress Woolsey in it. After you have seen to that, I want you to find a new treasurer, someone who is both local and loyal to the Grey of Ferelden," she commanded. "Woolsey may see the accounts but that is all."

"Are you sure that's wise, Commander?" he asked, his eyebrows raised high enough to be lost in his hairline. She almost laughed at the startled look on his face. The usually unflappable Varel was shocked by her words.

"Wise? Perhaps not, my dear Varel. However, it is immensely satisfying," she said candidly. His brows lowered and he allowed a small smile before speaking.

"As you wish Commander," he finally replied and it was with great, if somewhat childish, satisfaction that Leonie went in search of Alistair.

The rain still pounded without remorse at the Keep and most of the Wardens were in the armory or training rooms, but Alistair was in his room. She tapped lightly on the door.

"Something you need, Warden Commander?" he asked politely, ushering her into his room. There was something stark and sterile about his room. Other than the portrait of Duncan on the wall, there was little of a personal nature anywhere that Leonie could see, and that saddened her. He still felt apart from the others, she sensed, and rather than discussing the planned trip to Soldier's Peak, she decided to try and break through to him.

"Yes, Alistair. I need you to tell me why you were so upset during the meeting," Leonie said frankly.

"Oh," the young man responded reluctantly. "Are you ordering me to tell you or asking, Warden Commander?"

"As a friend I am concerned," she said softly, coming to perch on his bed. The only chair in the room contained a pile of armor; a polishing rag and oils on the floor beside it.

"It's personal," he began and she smiled.

"That is why I come as a friend and as such, ask that you call me Leonie or Leo," she replied in the same soft tones. She motioned for him to sit beside her.

"I just…it's just..." Alistair started but then shook his head. "Phin and I fought about keeping Avernus alive. I mean really fought. Phin was like a brother to me, we were pretty close and I was so angry," he said, shaking his head again and rubbing his forehead.

"Things between us weren't the same after that. Phin accused me of being naïve and immature and I accused him of being a ruthless bastard. Ha! Imagine _me_ calling someone else a bastard," he finished with an unhappy laugh. "We went at it for over an hour and let me tell you, a lot of nasty things can be said in an hour."

Leonie reached out and took his hand in hers, rubbing it comfortingly, a silent encouragement to continue.

"And then came the Landsmeet. By then we were barely speaking. I was just such an idiot," he said with a self deprecating laugh. "Hard to imagine, I know," he added.

"When he decided to conscript Loghain I snapped and said some even worse things to Phin. In front of the whole Landsmeet. I don't know why," he continued, staring unhappily into the distance, into memories that were still raw and bleeding. Leonie continued to gently stroke his hand.

"Perhaps because all your heroes were merely mortal beings after all? Duncan, Loghain, Phindar. All these men you admired and they did things that you saw as a betrayal of the homage you paid them?" Leonie asked delicately.

"What betrayal is Duncan guilty of?" Alistair shot back, his mood swiftly darkening.

"He died. He died and left you alone," she answered honestly. "And Loghain was a hero to you, yes? But he betrayed you when he pulled his troops from the field of battle.

"And Phindar Surana made decisions you knew had to be made at a time when your grief was so strong you could barely function. So naturally he became a hero, but when you finally found your voice again, he would not listen and he too betrayed you."

"Why? Why did he kill the Archdemon? Why didn't Loghain?" Alistair cried suddenly, standing up and running a hand through his hair. "I don't understand why," he added and she heard tears in his voice.

For only a brief moment, Leonie contemplated telling Alistair the truth as Loghain had told her but that would be a betrayal of trust and she wouldn't do that. She could only hope one day Loghain would tell Alistair the real reason Surana sacrificed himself. She thought that day was still far in the future.

"From all I have heard of Phindar Surana, he understood his duty. He was the most senior Warden in Ferelden at the time. He did not throw himself at the Archdemon because of your fight," she reassured.

Except for the constant splattering of angry rain hitting the window, the room was silent. Finally Alistair, without looking at her, spoke. "Thank you. I mean it, Leonie. It felt good to talk about it," he said sincerely.

"Thank you, Alistair. I know it is not easy to share these thoughts," Leonie responded, standing and moving to the door in two short steps.

"You and I will leave for Soldier's Peak tomorrow morning, rain or no," she said over her shoulder. "Plan for rain, however," she added with a grin. He chuckled as she closed the door behind her.

Making her way to the training room to talk to the other Wardens about her plans, she was stopped by Varel.

"The Royal Horse Guard is approaching the Keep, Commander," Varel announced matter-of-factly, as if their arrival was a normal occurrence and totally expected. Leonie felt a flutter of panic. The Queen was here? More than a flutter of panic went through her then.

"Thank you Varel," she responded automatically coming to a stop mid stride and switching directions. "Please inform Loghain," she added as she went to the great hall, pleased with how calm her voice sounded. Inside her mind was whirling as she began to adjust her carefully laid out plans.

"What is the Royal Horse Guard doing here?" she asked Loghain, a slight accusatory note rising above the lower note of alarm in her voice.

"I should imagine they are here on the Queen's business," he replied drolly, coming to stand beside her. She scowled at him but then as his words registered, she let out a breath.

"So, it is merely her guardsmen and not her?" Leonie asked in relief.

"Just so," Loghain replied with his usual brevity.

As Leonie waited for the Queen's Horse Guard to arrive, she mentally readjusted her previously adjusted plans. Moments later she wasn't sure why she had bothered.

With great ceremony, the Captain of the Horse Guard made his way across the slate floor of the great room, his boots ringing metallically against the stone. The sound held a certain doom in it, to Leonie's mind.

"I am Captain Leister, of the Queen's Horse Guard. I am here to provide escort to you," he began with a smart salute. Leonie stared at him blankly. Escort to where?

"Captain Leister, I bid you welcome to Vigil's Keep," Leonie heard herself respond. "Might I know where you are escorting me to?" she added and he held out a scroll bearing the royal seal.

"Her Majesty, Queen Anora, has requested your presence in Denerim, Warden Commander," he replied formally as she took the scroll. In her surprise, she dropped the scroll and then hastily bent to retrieve it, trying to keep her nerves steady as she did so.

Why, she wondered, not for the first time and probably not for the last time, did her plans never go according to her wishes?

"I'll see to the schedule," Loghain reassured with the thinnest hint of a smirk in his voice as she broke the seal and read the request.

"No, Warden Loghain, I do not believe you will," she replied as she read. She didn't bother to mask the gloating tone of her voice. "It seems her Majesty, Queen Anora, is requesting your presence in Denerim as well."


	10. Chapter 10

**Riding in the Shadows**

"Varel, would you please see that Captain Leister and his men have a meal?" Leonie instructed with a gracious smile that didn't reach her eyes.

"Warden Loghain, I would have a word with you," she added in the same silken tones as she watched Varel escort the Royal Horse Guard out of the room. She stared after them, all the guardsmen in their beautifully matched, highly polished, dripping wet, dragonbone armor, made her stomach flutter at the thought of going to Denerim.

As soon as they were in the privacy of her office, she tossed the scroll to Loghain. "I do not have the time to go to Denerim and pander to the nobles," she said heatedly.

She watched Loghain as he read the summons. "Dear Warden Commander," she scoffed, hands on hips. "She did not think me such a dear Warden Commander when first we met," she added, now tapping her foot as well.

"You seem unduly upset that the Queen of Ferelden and her citizens want to offer thanks and appreciation for your work in securing Amaranthine with so few lives lost," he remarked with a penetrating stare. "Are you nervous?" he asked in some surprise after Leonie found it impossible to meet his eyes.

"Most assuredly not," she responded, knowing it was a lie the minute she spoke. _And he did to, damn him_. He was smirking. "I have so much to do here, and the trip to Soldier's Peak should not be put off. The blood mage is an old man who could die at any time," she babbled on, turning away from his continued amusement.

"I believe a man who has lived for over two hundred years is capable of living a few weeks longer," Loghain responded dryly. He moved to her, placing his hands on her shoulders and turning her around to face him.

"You _are _nervous," he said and his smirk grew into a smile that softened his features and while it usually made her weak at the knees to see such a smile from him, now it only made her feel more agitated.

"You fight ogres with more courage than wisdom, you faced down a horde of talking darkspawn," he reminded her with continued humor teasing his voice. "But you are afraid of the Queen of Ferelden and a few nobles?"

Resisting the urge to stamp her foot childishly, but only just, she replied haughtily, "I am most certainly _not _afraid."

Loghain surprised her then. He laughed. She wasn't sure she'd ever heard him truly laugh. Snicker, yes. Snort, absolutely. Chuckle on occasion, certainly. But the rich rumble of laughter was a rare sound as it caressed the air around her. It didn't last long but it was a sweet song in Leonie's ears. It did not, however, alleviate her nervousness or her growing sense of dread. She had wanted to visit Denerim, but not like this, not without time to prepare for what would be an emotional journey.

"Why are you nervous?" he finally asked, his eyes still lit with amusement.

Leonie had no intention of telling him that she was nervous about meeting his _daughter, _not the queen. And how could she confess to him that she was even more nervous about visiting the Grey Warden compound? How could she express her dread at having memories stirred up so close to the surface that they would become a physical pain? She stepped away and went to her desk, quickly drawing up a list of instructions for Varel.

"You would do well to stop smirking and start packing, Loghain," she said as she bent her head over her list.

* * *

"You are to review all of Woolsey's correspondence, Varel. But carefully, yes? I do not wish her to know you are doing so."

Leonie was struggling to pack her ceremonial armor and what few formal gowns she owned into her small traveling trunk. Varel was standing in the door of her room, the list of instructions in one hand, as they went through the items.

"Nathaniel is to be acting commander in my absence since Queen Anora insists I bring Loghain with me, unless you have come up with a plausible reason why I cannot attend this small banquet?"

"No Commander, I haven't. I'm afraid you will have to make the sacrifice," Varel admitted. Leonie thought he and Loghain might be long lost brothers; the same droll sense of humor seemed reflected in Varel's expression.

"Do not let Alistair stay locked away in his room, Varel. He will only brood if he is allowed to," Leonie continued, ignoring Varel's expression in favor of folding a gown into the small trunk.

"No Commander, I won't."

She stood, pulling out her oiled leathers. "You will contact me if there is trouble, yes?"

"Yes Commander," Varel assured and then stepped closer, lowering his voice.

"Be strong, Leonie, they are just shadows," he said with a reassuring smile, before he turned and left, closing her door softly behind him. Bemused, she stared at the closed door for long moments. An open book. That's what Riordan had always told her. She was an open book. Or at least to those who actually took the time to read, she thought dryly. Varel apparently took the time to read.

With a last look around her room, she closed and secured the small trunk. Patrain, a young elven servant, came and hoisted it up on a shoulder with a grin. "Imagine sending an escort and a cart for you," he breathed in something akin to awe.

"Yes, imagine," she replied with a kind smile as he made his way out of her room. Imagine the queen sending an escort and demanding their presence immediately.

What, she wondered quietly, was Queen Anora up to? A banquet to honor the heroism of the Wardens was certainly plausible but she doubted, given the urgency of the summons, that a banquet was all that the queen wanted of them. Once in her leathers, she pulled on her waxed canvas cloak in the hopes of keeping the rain off her. A futile hope, as it would turn out.

She didn't see Loghain again until they met in the stables. He was busy saddling Taranis and spared her only a cursory glance. She gathered her tack and went to a stall that housed a pale grey courser, one of those gifted from the Orlesians. Her name was Bendis and she was almost the color of moonlight. Leonie brought out an apple and made friends with her new mount. She handed Loghain half an apple for Taranis as well before she began saddling her horse.

"How long will it take us to reach Denerim?" she finally asked, cinching her saddle with a tug.

"No more than three days, less if we ride hard," Loghain responded and then gave a grunt as Taranis nipped at his shoulder.

"You were right to warn me of his ill temper. It seems even you are not immune to it," she snickered.

Loghain said nothing by way of reply but just before they mounted, he put a hand out, stopping her. "She is a good woman. You've nothing to worry about," he said softly and she nodded. Even he seemed unaware of the shadows of the past, shadows of a life that had been taken from her. But they plagued her, warned her that both she and Loghain would be walking in the shadows.

"So Varel has reassured me," she said glumly as he helped her mount.

* * *

There was nothing as miserable as riding in cold, heavy rain on an unfamiliar horse in wet leather, Leonie decided as they splattered and splashed along the road to Denerim. She was angry, which did nothing to alleviate the misery she was experiencing. And when the wind came up, shrieking like a madwoman, Leonie knew just how it felt.

There was no reason at all for her to go to Denerim to meet with Queen Anora and attend a banquet held in their honor. Loghain could have just as easily done so by himself. She had even offered to send other Wardens in her place. There were so much to do, none of which would be accomplished if she was pandering to a throng of drunken nobles. Loghain had been adamant. Varel had agreed.

She knew they were right; she hadn't spent six years in Celene's court not to have become politically aware. It didn't mean she was happy about it. She had not started out angry. She had not even been angry when the rooms procured by the guardsmen each night of their journey included separate ones for Leonie and Loghain. She assumed it was on the orders of the queen and one that Leonie understood. There was no reason to let the world know she and Loghain were involved. There was a nagging concern that Loghain may not have told his daughter that he and Leonie were together, but she pushed that worry aside. It seemed inconsequential compared to the other emotions beginning to play havoc with her.

Loghain was remote, nearly a stranger that rode just slightly ahead of her, as if he couldn't quite bring himself to ride beside her, but couldn't quite bring himself to be too far away. She understood only because she felt just as remote and just as in need of reassurance. She suspected his reasons were much the same as hers, and the closer they drew to Denerim the more remote theyeach became. They both were about to walk in the shadows of memories and neither of them wanted to.

Leonie felt a heaviness of spirit, a weight that pressed deeply in her chest, wrapping with cold fingers around her heart. Denerim was where her beloved Rivaini pirate had stayed for much of his time in Ferelden, especially in the Grey Warden compound on the grounds of the Palace. She would not just be walking in his footsteps. She would be shadowing his steps, taking inventory in the warehouse in the market district, reading his journals. Sleeping where he had slept. The shadows of the past would surround her while she was there. The thought of that was making her queasy and there were times when she had to remind herself to breathe.

Denerim, where Riordan had fallen to his death, where he had spent the last days of his life, where he had been tortured. Her wonderful, high spirited friend who had sacrificed himself in the hope of saving a homeland that didn't even acknowledge him. Her tears were present only in the lump that seemed to have taken up residence in her chest. She wondered if Loghain was feeling the same slow rise of pain as memories echoed in the darkness.

They should be leaning on each other, they should be relying on the other to help overcome the gloom that surrounded them every bit as much as the fog that had dogged their entire trip, but that was not Loghain's way and eventhough it was her way, she couldn't bring herself to talk. She couldn't overcome her own malaise any more than he was able to shake off his depression and so they rode along in the rain, nearly strangers to each other. That was the source of her anger. And it was not anger at Loghain, but rather at herself. She gave herself a mental scolding, leaving her other emotions raw and too near the surface but at least, after three days, her simmering anger was leaving her.

If she was feeling the sting of tears rising up to feed her dark thoughts, she could well imagine that Loghain was beating himself up with bitter, painful memories and she finally nudged Bendis up to ride beside Loghain. Even in the gloom of approaching twilight, she saw how grim his expression was, how tense he held himself. She peeled off one of her wet gloves and, unmindful of the guardsmen around them, reached out and brushed her fingertips along the sharp angle of Loghain's cheekbone. "I am with you," she said only. Those were the first words either of them had spoken all day. He nodded once in acknowledgement but said nothing.

The city of Denerim appeared in the gathering dusk, a behemoth looming in the drizzle, shrouded in the mist, oblique and distorted by the shadows of dusk. It was everything that Val Royeaux was not. Rather than wide, bright boulevards and graceful, columned buildings, it was a jumble of half timbered structures that seemed to be built on top of each other. The streets were narrow and twisting and they rode across several bridges as they made their way through the city gates toward the palace.

Duncan had told her that the city was carved out of the rocky mountain it sat upon and she could see that now in the profusion of rooftops of various elevations that rose before her. Not graceful, but solid, hardy buildings that seemed to match the spirit of the citizens. Not classically beautiful but rugged and durable, enduring, he had claimed.

He was right about the smells of the city as well. Val Royeaux always smelled of fragrant herbs and the flowers that grew in gay profusion all around the city, of the sea and of the incense from the Grand Cathedral. Here the air was heavy with the scent of wet timber and peat fires and people living too closely on top of each other, of fish markets and spices she was unfamiliar with. Not sweet and subtle, but pungent and alive. Robust.

The sound was different as well. Rather than the dulcet tones of the Choir of the Divine singing the Chant reverently to the Maker, she heard the muted clatter of horses on cobblestone, the distant barking of dogs, children laughing and the rain slanting off the pitched rooftops to splash on the cobbled streets.

All of it seemed so foreign and yet strangely familiar because of Duncan. He had loved Denerim, said it teamed with people who made no apology for who they were, rich or poor, that there was a strength in them and the city itself that he had never seen in the pristine façade of Val Royeaux. Other than the cold and damp, he had been happy here. She could feel her grief unfurling again, a dull twist of a rusted blade in her heart as memory enveloped her. And with each step the horse took, she wondered if she was walking in the shadow of Duncan.

The palace loomed in the foreground and only added to her bleak misery. The outriders had made their arrival known. The torches were lit along the road to the palace gates, which were open in welcome. Leonie wrestled with the urgent need to rein in or wheel her horse around and ride into the dark labyrinth of streets. Panic, pride and grief warred in that flash of time before her shoulders straightened and she centered herself in the present. Pride won out.

They were greeted by an elven maid, an Orlesian from the sound of her accent, Leonie guessed. A man servant, dressed in the formal clothes of a noble, was also there. Both sketched very minimal bows.

"I am her Majesty's High Steward, Blakely. I welcome you to the Royal Palace of Her Majesty, Queen Anora of Ferelden. She will greet you in her private apartments in one hour," the man said. He was tall and pale, as thin as a reed with light brown hair and drab brown eyes. He had a morose look about him, his eyes heavy lidded and his mouth downturned.

"Your old quarters are prepared, Your Grace," Blakely said with a rather stiff bow for Loghain.

"Warden Loghain," Loghain corrected coldly and Blakely paled, if such a thing were possible for a man with so little coloring.

"I am Erlina, Warden Commander. I am the queen's personal maid. I will show you to your quarters," the young maid said, stepping forward. She _was _Orlesian and from the dark hair and eyes and full mouth, she suspected the woman was from the Val Royeaux alienage. Which struck her as an odd thing, the Queen of Ferelden having an Orlesian maid. Before she could give voice to her curiosity, they were moving.

Leonie sent a pleading glance over her shoulder at Loghain but he was already making his way in the opposite direction and as the distance between them grew, so did the heaviness in Leonie's heart. She turned resolutely away from his retreating back.

Hopelessly lost, Leonie followed Erlina to a small guest quarters with a bedroom, a private bath, and a small balcony overlooking a rain-soaked garden. She had no idea how far away Loghain was, where she was in relation to the Queen's private quarters, or what was expected of her. She felt completely lost and for a moment was angry at Loghain for being so distant, angrier with herself for being so melancholy.

"I find it most odd that Queen Anora has an Orlesian bard for a personal servant," Leonie remarked finally, as she stood dripping on the expensive carpet beneath her wet boots.

Erlina was moving with quick, sparrow-like grace around the room, showing Leonie where all her belongings had been stowed. The ceremonial armor was on a stand, polished to an almost blinding sheen. Her gowns were already pressed and in the armoire. The cart with their trunks had not stopped at night, pressing on to Denerim. It was a relief to Leonie to have her things, the familiarity of her possession so close.

"Bard?" Erlina asked and then a smile lit her almond shaped brown eyes. "Ah, the Lion of Orlais would recognize a bard, yes," she agreed and at this Leonie raised an eyebrow.

"I know that you are the one who killed Maraville and for that act alone, I hold you in high esteem," Erlina said quietly.

Leonie blushed at that. "I did what was necessary, it was hardly heroic," she finally replied.

"You and I know better, Commander. We know that humans do not defend elves, yes? Yet you did. You killed a chevalier to do so," Erlina said firmly and Leonie had seen that odd stubbornness before, somewhere. She frowned slightly as she stared at Erlina, trying to place the woman. .

"How long have you been with Queen Anora?" she finally asked and Erlina grinned, the servant's demeanor gone completely in that moment.

"Long enough to know that I answer only to her," the elven woman answered and Leonie found herself chuckling.

"I will tell you only what you need to know, Commander. She is a good woman who loves her father."

So saying, Erlina went to the door and then turned. "Someone will come to escort you to the queen's private quarters. Do not be too trusting of the others within the palace. They all seek the favor of the queen." With that cryptic warning, Erlina was gone.

Leonie made her way into the bathroom and was pleased to find a steaming bath awaited her. She peeled off her wet leathers and gratefully slid into the hot water. She yelped as the heat hit her cold skin. The hot water felt like needles that were pricking her skin and it took several uncomfortable minutes for her skin to adjust to the sudden change in temperature.

She stretched out in the warm water, closing her eyes and willing her tense muscles to relax. She had seen Erlina before. Or rather, someone who shared Erlina's stubborn jut of chin and those inquisitive, almond shaped brown eyes. Not Marliss or Faulon, but someone from Val Royeaux. She sighed, her mind no more relaxed than her body. With a splash, she sat up and reached for the lavender scented soap.

Leonie pulled a dark green gown with an embroidered stomacher out of the armoire. It was not the latest style, none of her gowns were. She didn't usually care. She rarely armed herself with fripperies and pretty clothes. That was not how she gathered her courage, but somehow tonight she wished she had a dazzling new gown and she hated herself for that thought. Sighing, she wondered how soon she would be able to return to her room. Leonie went to the window and stared into the darkness, listening to the patter of rain on the leaves.

Somewhere nearby was the Warden compound. Maker, would she ever stop missing Duncan? She touched her ring, knew each rune by heart. She sighed again. This was not how she had envisioned her first trip to Denerim. A tear slid silently down her cheek and then another. She blinked and wiped away the tears, pushing against the shadows. She would not meet the queen with red and swollen eyes. By the Maker, she would not.

A light tap broke her out of her reverie. Her escort had arrived and there was no putting off her meeting with Anora Mac Tir Theirin, the Queen of Ferelden. She opened the door and stared into a pair of blue eyes.

"Your Majesty," Leonie blurted out in surprise.


	11. Chapter 11

**Women of Power**

"Warden Commander," Anora replied coolly, with a trace of the famous Mac Tir dryness in her tone. "May I come in?" she continued, moving past Leonie without waiting for an answer. Leonie thought wryly that there was no question real question in the queen's manner, but there seldom was when a Mac Tir was involved, they simply did as they pleased, without hesitation. And while it amused her, it also annoyed her.

"I did not expect my escort to be the Queen of Ferelden," Leonie said when her ability to speak finally caught up with her racing mind.

"Our first meeting was hardly an auspicious occasion. I seek to remedy that," the queen began and then turned, staring with sharp intent at Leonie who returned the look with a carefully schooled expression of deference. This was a test of some kind, Leonie felt it and although she was nervous, and discomfited by the sudden appearance of Anora, she was trying not to show any outward signs of that discomfort. Power would not be given lightly to the Queen of Ferelden.

"Yes, your Majesty. That was a very trying day for me, I am sure I was not at my best. The loss of so many friends overcame my usual courtesy," Leonie admitted readily enough, her voice still carefully neutral.

"As it did mine, Warden Commander."

The two women stood, each watchful as they evaluated the other. Leonie felt a slight blush creep into her cheeks at the queen's scrutiny, as well as a growing sense of unease. She found herself wanting to look away from the queen's steady gaze, which stiffened her pride and stubbornness. She struggled to maintain an aura of calm.

"I underestimated you, Warden Commander," Anora finally began, moving with sure steps to the only chair in the room and seating herself there.

A calculated move that Leonie was very familiar with, Celene had used it often enough. It was designed to put a person on the defensive. The queen seemingly relaxed and leaving Leonie to stand awkwardly. Leonie would have none of it. She stood by the door, hands clasped in front of her, head titled slightly. She had curtsied once to the queen. She would not allow herself to remain in a humble attitude before the other woman. Her chin titled up slightly.

"I am surprised to hear you say so, your Majesty. You do not seem like a person who underestimates anything," Leonie replied with the careful respect she had learned through her years at the Imperial Court.

Anora smiled and Leonie was surprised to see a genuine warmth in the queen's eyes, a trace of humor in her smile. "But I did, Warden Commander. When I returned from the Bannorn to discover you had kept my father on at Vigil's Keep, I was surprised. I couldn't imagine why you would do that. You kept the man many believe murdered Duncan and your fellow Wardens with you and that was unexpected," Anora finished in a voice that was deceptively mystified. There was a hint of the imperious monarch in her bearing, regal and graceful as she sat in the chair, blue eyes fixed on Leonie.

It was only through her own stubbornness and pride that Leonie did not flinch at the queen's words. They were designed to elicit an emotional response and she would not give Anora the satisfaction, would not allow Anora to have that power over her. But it hurt, deep inside her. The guilt that she had thought conquered nipped viciously at Leonie. She ruthlessly nipped back, pushing it away. Now was not the time to give in to that guilt.

She loved Loghain and many would find that an odd state; it was only natural that his daughter would be suspicious of her for that very reason. She refrained from reminding Anora that Loghain was as responsible for King Cailan's death as he was for Duncan's. She wondered if Anora even understood the implication of her words and then couldn't imagine she didn't. Both women had become widows, in part, through the actions of the same man, no matter the reason. Leonie refused to voice her thought. She would not put herself in that position. At least not on so little provocation.

"I admit that was I was equally surprised by that, your Majesty. In truth, I did so out of anger. Warden Loghain was unwise enough to question a decision I made and he did so in front of my Wardens. As a commander, I could not let that go without answer, as I am sure you can appreciate," Leonie explained, her anger tempered by the knowledge that anything she said would be duly noted by the woman before her. Noted and remembered, Leonie reflected dryly. She moved to the bed and sat down carefully, putting them both on an equal level again.

"Yet you made him your Second," Anora spoke with that hint of confusion still in her voice. Confusion that Leonie believed disingenuous at best.

"I did and it has served the Wardens well," Leonie agreed with an equanimity she was far from feeling. What was this woman after? "He has served with great distinction."

"I appreciate that you kept him in Ferelden. He would have been miserable in Orlais, surrounded by _Orlesians_," Anora said with a gracious smile but the graciousness was undone by the emphasis on that word. Leonie smiled pleasantly but her anger was there, waiting to be set free, hovering just behind her eyes.

"You are welcome, your Majesty, though as I said, I did not do it for any reason other than because of my anger."

Silence grew between the two women. Leonie was wondering who at Vigil's Keep was informing the queen of events there and then it occurred to her that, though there were many, there was only one who had the access to the inner workings of the Vigil and who Leonie no longer trusted. Had the Queen written to the First Warden requesting Woolsey be sent to oversee the arling's finances? Or was Leonie merely looking for a scapegoat, becoming paranoid because of Laurent? There was one way to find out, or at least one way Leonie was willing to take.

With a slight frown, a look she hoped conveyed consternation, Leonie spoke again, instilling regret in her words. "I think perhaps that the bird who sings from the Vigil has found a new nest," Leonie remarked quietly, watching Anora intently. She had not meant to challenge the queen directly but she wanted Anora to know she would not sit quietly by either.

Anora was not a fool. That much Leonie understood as she watched the queen's reaction. In some ways she was much like Loghain, had the same ability to quickly recover from a surprise, to bring surprise and anger under control almost before it was noticeable. Perhaps her time with Loghain had given Leonie an edge in her dealings with the queen.

"Celene did warn me that you were very clever," Anora said with an appreciative chuckle.

And it was Leonie's turn to be surprised. She, being an open book in such things, was sure that Anora saw the surprise her words had caused. "I fear Cousin Celene has always been too generous in her assessment of me," Leonie finally said, not sure why she was surprised to know that two of the most powerful women in all of Thedas corresponded. Leonie was reminded of Celene's assessment that Anora was the rose among the brambles. Roses had thorns and Leonie would do well to remember that in her interactions with the queen.

Anora was watching her with shrewd and steady blue eyes. Leonie offered a smile. It would also explain Erlina's presence as a personal maid to the queen. "I will assume that Erlina is a gift from Empress Celene?" she guessed and Anora smiled, an affectionate and indulgent smile. No doubt for Erlina, Leonie surmised sourly. Certainly not for her. Leonie felt like a well- basted goose on Feastday.

Leonie sat quietly after that, unwilling to say any more until the queen had revealed her true purpose for the unanticipated visit. She spent the time assessing the queen. They were close in age and while Anora had many of her father's traits, she most certainly had her mother's looks. Fair and delicate but not at all fragile. There was a grace there, as well, that spoke of time spent training and she supposed that made sense, given who Anora's father was. No daughter of his would be without some training in swordplay. Yet she didn't have the callused and scarred hands of a battle maiden which led Leonie to believe that there had been just enough training to understand the basic techniques.

There was also no doubting that Anora was both determined and intelligent. Forthright, a woman who did not suffer fools or hide her displeasure Leonie had been told, so she was confused by Anora's more subtle approach in her visit to Leonie. But Leonie was well versed in politics and she came to understand that Anora behaved as Anora felt she needed to in order to accomplish her own agenda. In this she differed from Loghain, who had very little subtlety in him.

Anora was not all that different from any other person in power. She had been born into the political machinations where Loghain had not been. Still Leonie was growing impatient, as impatient as she had been whenever forced to spend time in Empress Celene's court. But that same time spent there had given Leonie the ability to mask at least some of her emotions.

It seemed probable that the queen was trying to take her measure, to see how best to play Leonie. And perhaps Anora too was a master of the Grand Game. Women of power did not have the luxury that men of power did, even in a country like Ferelden where women warriors were treated as equals and where the Rebel Queen and Queen Rowan had both been strong and forceful women of power.

Leonie was determined not to ask Anora why she was there. She was not willing to bend that far or give Anora any more power over her than she already had. She waited with what she hoped was a serene expression on her face, though serenity was not something Leonie felt at the moment. She was tired and hungry and the oppressive weight of being in Denerim and facing ghosts without the steadying presence of Loghain to help her had robbed her of any serenity.

"You are quite astute, aren't you? Making Nathaniel Howe a Grey Warden and then making his sister Delilah the Bann of Amaranthine. Many would question putting them in such positions, given Rendon Howe's treachery."

"Indeed, your Majesty? I have never been a believer that the children of such men should suffer from the deeds of their _fathers_," Leonie replied with surprising coolness, considering how unfair she felt the statement was and how angry she was becoming. Many would say her own father had acted with equal treachery during the Blight and yet Anora remained the Queen. Even knowing why Loghain had acted as he had at Ostagar did little to assuage her growing ire at his daughter for the implication so clear in her words.

Anora blushed, a pale pink that bloomed like spring roses in her cheeks. Leonie met her look calmly and smiled politely. The queen was imperious, more than competent and nearly unflappable. She commanded respect and under any other circumstances, Leonie would be slightly in awe of the woman, but just now, she was too emotionally distressed to be anything other than irritated with the queen. Leonie could only hope that she was not showing that irritation.

"And Alistair? My father? Would you really expect me to believe it's a coincidence that a Howe, a Theirin and a Mac Tir are now under one roof? _Yours_, as it happens," Anora finally commented in a cool, probing tone. Leonie watched Anora's face carefully. There was just a brief flare of genuine curiosity before Anora's face resumed its mask of studied imperious aloofness. Leonie wondered briefly if Anora realized how like her father she was in that moment. Cool and implacable and bitingly sarcastic when it suited.

"Is there an accusation in that remark, your Majesty? Or merely curiosity?" Leonie finally asked when she was sure she had control of her voice again.

"I ask where your loyalties lay, Warden Commander," Anora answered and the smile was icy, her eyes penetrating. Leonie met Anora's gaze unflinchingly.

"I am a Grey Warden. My commitment to my duty is the only loyalty that remains constant, your Majesty. As I am the Warden Commander of Ferelden then my duty, and thus my loyalty, lay with Ferelden, and protecting them from darkspawn," Leonie said stiffly. The anger crawled along her muscles, wrapping around them and squeezing until every muscle was taut.

"And as you saw fit to give us an arling, and thus the responsibilities of such, I am also loyal to those within the arling in matters other than those of protecting them from darkspawn. Naturally how Ferelden fares affects how that arling fares," she continued with as much quiet dignity as she could muster.

"Of course, Warden Commander, but as sole monarch, I too am duty bound to protect Ferelden and even you can see that your actions could appear to have political ramifications," Anora said calmly.

Leonie wondered briefly if Anora knew how insufferably like Loghain she was at the moment; such a wonderful Mac Tir apology for the implication that Leonie was somehow a devious Orlesian with designs on overthrowing the monarchy. Not a word of remorse for such an insinuation, just an excuse for ill-mannered behavior. Leonie's hands, once resting lightly in her lap were now clasped tightly. She forced her fingers to relax.

The woman could have asked Leonie in an open and forthright manner just where her loyalties resided at the very beginning of their conversation instead of employing all the veiled innuendo. Did she hope to trip Leonie up into admitting some nefarious reason for her actions? Leonie doubted that the queen's personality ran to that kind of machinations, all evidence to the contrary. She assumed that Anora's true intent had yet to be revealed and with an inward sigh, she spoke.

"Naturally so, your Majesty. Was that the reason you summoned me to Denerim?" Leonie asked bluntly, her fragile patience dissipated by the heat of her growing anger.

"Not entirely," Anora began and it was only then that the young queen looked faintly ill at ease.

"Then I await the other reasons, Queen Anora. This trip is difficult for me, it is my first visit to Denerim and there are no happy memories for me here," she said and the unexpected quiver in her voice spoke of her distress. "I cannot imagine it is an easy trip for your father, either," she added quietly. Another long silence followed and Leonie had almost given up on getting an answer from the queen.

"I am well aware of how difficult this trip is for my father, Warden Commander. I also know that the sooner he faces his demons here, the sooner he can let go of them. However, I don't really need to explain that to you, do I? From all accounts you know him quite well," the queen retorted with the most asperity in her voice that Leonie had heard yet. It was nice to know that more than ice ran through the queen's veins, for all that she felt a growing unease. So the queen knew of Loghaina and Leonie's involvment. Would she seek to end it? Leonie tried to remain calm and confident. It was not an easy task as the moments of silence continued.

"Do you love him?" Anora asked abruptly and the trappings of the monarchy fell away as the question was asked. She was just a daughter in that moment, concerned for her father. Her question hung suspended between them and Leonie sighed softly. A young woman, a _concerned_ young woman stood before her and Leonie almost felt sorry for her in that moment. Her anger fell away. Love and concern for a parent she understood all to well.

"It is as much a mystery to me as anyone, your Majesty, but yes, I have come to love your father a great deal," Leonie admitted with complete candor.

Blue eyes narrowed, Anora stood and walked to the bed, looking down at Leonie intently. Leonie stood as well, her eyes never leaving the queen's. There was no use pretending she didn't love the man, as aggravating and maddening as he was. And she would not deny that love, come what may.

"I don't think I really believed the reports about my father carrying on with an Orlesian woman. You obviously wield a great deal of power over him," Anora said softly.

Leonie chuckled without mirth. "I am afraid you once again give me far more credit than is my due, your Majesty," Leonie answered honestly. "I cannot imagine a woman, other than his daughter, holding sway over Loghain Mac Tir, though I am flattered you believe such a thing of me."

Anora nodded once, and smiled again. It was a tender smile, an affectionate smile, one a daughter who loved her father would wear. "Of course he wouldn't mention anything in his letters about your relationship. He still sees me as a child in pigtails with scraped knees and smudges on my face," Anora said fondly. Somehow Leonie had difficulty picturing the immaculate woman before her in any state other than pristine_. _

"Thank you," Anora finally continued and her smile was genuine and directed at Leonie. Leonie wasn't sure she had done anything to merit gratitude but she found herself returning the smile. Anora Mac Tir Theirin had every bit as much charisma as her father but in a much different way.

"I am not sure why you are thanking me, your Majesty," Leonie admitted with a rueful smile. "It was certainly never my intent to fall in love with him."

Anora laughed lightly. "Nor his intention to do the same, I should think," she agreed with genuine amusement, before continuing seriously. "My father has had little enough joy in his life. If he finds that with you, I am happy for him. Judging from the look in your eyes when you speak of him, you find joy with him as well," Anora finished honestly, with more insight than Leonie had credited her with having. But in that honesty was an implicit warning that should Leonie hurt Loghain she would have to deal with not only a wrathful queen but a wrathful daughter.

"Shall we go and find my father? I'm sure he's nervous about this meeting, though he would never admit it," Anora offered and Leonie was thankful enough for the interrogation ending that she gladly followed the queen out of the room. Her stomach, traitorous on the best of days, rumbled hungrily.

Loghain was standing in front of the fireplace, hands stretched out for warmth. He seemed lost in thought as Leonie and Anora entered the room and when he finally looked up, Leonie saw that he was still gripped by the melancholy that had settled around them both like a heavy wet blanket; like the fog that even now crept along the ground and wound its way along the narrow, twisting streets. Leonie's instinct was to put her arms around him and stand within the circle of his arms, giving and receiving strength and reassurance.

"Father," Anora said softly, coming to stand beside him.

Loghain looked down at her and then over at Leonie, who tried to put all her love into a smile, to let him know without touch or speech, that she was with him, that she needed him every bit as much as he needed her.

"Anora," he greeted somewhat warily. "Commander," he added.

"Oh father, really. It isn't as if I'm not aware of your feelings for your _commander_," Anora chided fondly, smiling first at Loghain and then at Leonie, who felt a blush sweeping with great heat across her cheeks.

"Ah," he said only.

Erlina came into the room and Leonie noticed Anora give the young elven woman a cursory nod. Leonie wasn't sure what to make of that but as dinner was being brought in on covered dishes that filled the informal dining room with a delicious aroma, and as her stomach was clamoring for attention, she let go of her curiosity in favor of assuaging her hunger.

The meal was pleasant enough, Anora and Loghain talked quietly and Leonie was free to watch the interaction between the two. That Loghain adored his daughter was evident in the tenderness and pride in his expression when he watched her, in the words that were spoken between them. Leonie was reminded of her youth, the closeness she had shared with her own father. She found herself smiling at them as they talked, without really listening to their words.

After dinner, she excused herself, to give them time to talk privately and Anora came to stand in front of her, her smile warmer, her manner less aloof. "I look forward to becoming better acquainted," the queen said quietly, in a voice no longer cool and appraising.

"As do I, your Majesty," Leonie replied honestly before dropping a small curtsy.

Loghain looked about to speak but then seemed to think better of it, choosing instead to give her a searching look, as if seeking reassurance and Leonie smiled warmly at him, inclining her head. Finally he moved to stand beside his daughter and though he didn't smile, she saw an easing in his shoulders, a lessening of tension.

As she was being led to her room, she became confused by the direction the servant was taking her in. For all that she was easily lost, she did have some awareness of direction and it seemed they were heading in the opposite direction of her room.

"Where are you taking me?" she finally asked the young woman who was escorting her.

The servant's expression remained neutral and deferential. "To your new quarters, Warden Commander," she replied with the calm dignity of a well trained servant.

As it turned out, her new quarters were adjoined Loghain's. As she stepped inside the beautifully appointed suite, done in varying shades of blue, she nearly wept in her relief. Even if they were distant emotionally, having him near physically gave her some measure of comfort. Before climbing into bed, she put a small drop of oil on her glowstone and brushed her fingertips along the runes. The room was immediatly illuminated in a pale green light. She climbed into bed, listening to the rain, muted by the rich damask drapes that covered the tall windows. She was determined to wait for Loghain to return to his room but she found herself lulled into a light sleep by the sound of the weeping rain.


	12. Chapter 12

**Dust**

He came to her quietly when he returned to his room. She was burrowed into the warmth of the bed when she heard the unmistakable click of the door between their rooms. Rolling over, she watched him standing in the soft green light from her glowstone, wearing nothing but a bleak and uncertain look on his strong features. He was magnificent in the light, his body a history of his life, broad and muscled, scarred and shaped by the battles that defined him. She held the covers open to him in invitation. His rough and callused hands were gentle as he took her into his arms and settled beside her.

"You have a very lovely daughter," she murmured drowsily.

Loghain snorted. "I have a stubborn and willful daughter," he answered and there was both exasperation and pride in his voice.

"Yes, I cannot imagine where she would have come by such traits," Leonie agreed, nestling into him with a sigh.

Loghain remained silent for so long that Leonie thought he had fallen asleep. "I know this is difficult for you," he began, his voice gruff. He pulled her closer, dropping a kiss on the crown of her hair. "I don't know whether you want me near you or as far away as possible," he finished with a candor that surprised Leonie. He usually made her guess, often incorrectly, on what he was thinking or feeling.

"As close as you are comfortable with, Loghain," she reassured him. His hands stilled and Leonie leaned away slightly so that she could see his face. He was grim and the melancholy still clung to him, a tangible presence in his downturned mouth and distant gaze.

"What is it, Loghain?" she asked, reaching up to smooth away the frown with tender fingers. He opened his mouth to speak and then fell silent again. She could feel his tension as if it were a living creature. She waited as patiently as she could for him to speak again. When he didn't, she spoke.

"Whether you admit it or not, Loghain, I know this is every bit as difficult for you," she whispered. He looked lost somehow, as if he were in a place he no longer knew.

"We aren't going to spend the night talking about this," he grumbled as she leaned up and softly kissed the sharp jut of his chin and then moved along his jaw.

"Maker forbid," Leonie agreed dryly. She trailed a line of kisses down his neck and then laid her head down, listening to the beat of his heart. His arms tightened around her.

"Maric is no doubt laughing at the irony," Loghain began.

Leonie let her fingers drift aimlessly through the dark downy hair on his chest as she waited for him to continue. When he didn't, she gave him a slight jab with a finger and he grunted, squirming away from the finger before dropping another kiss on the top of her head.

"Because you are sleeping with an Orlesian woman in the palace of Ferelden's queen?" she supplied, trying to keep her tone light. His words were not entirely unexpected, and not as painful to her as they might have once been.

"I miss him," he said in response, his voice once more gruff with emotion.

Leonie reached out and slid her fingers along the runes and the light from the glowstone faded, leaving the room dark, save for the glowing embers of the fire, banked low for the night. He caught her hand and brought it to his lips before tucking it against his chest, folded in his. She remained quiet, waiting for him to continue.

"He would laugh because I _love _an Orlesian woman," he finally corrected with that same roughened voice.

In the silence that followed, Leonie heard only the steady beating of his heart and the soft sigh of the rain. As the silence lengthened, Leonie thought he might have finally dozed off but he shifted slightly, bringing her hand to his lips again. "He told me something I didn't understand at the time," he added, turning her hand over and placing a warm kiss on her palm.

"He was trying to explain why he loved the Orlesian bard who betrayed us during the rebellion, Katriel. It was the way she saw him, he claimed. He would laugh now because I finally understand what he meant," Loghain ended, bringing his mouth down to hers in a long, deep kiss, lips moving across hers like silk brushing silk.

His hands were moving as well, following the contours of her hips, skimming along her rib cage, nimble fingers brushing along the curve of her breasts. Her moan escaped her against her will, a low urgent sound because her need was suddenly there, a hot and honeyed swelling in her. His kiss deepened, tongue and teeth now, and his hands were busy with the laces of her nightdress. She sat up and he whisked the garment over her head and tossed it to the floor in one fluid motion.

"Say it," he commanded, his tone almost angry. But it wasn't anger, it was need that was driving him. A need to feel connected to the here and now, a need she understood all too well. They both needed to be reminded that they were alive, that the dust and memories that surrounded them could not hold them prisoner unless they allowed it.

"I love you, Loghain," she whispered, pulling him into her, her fingers digging into the hard, tense muscles of his back as her legs wrapped around him. He dipped his head down, tongue warm against a nipple and she moved her hands from his back to tangle in his hair, fingernails lightly scraping against his scalp. His growl was deep and rough, his mouth moving along her skin like liquid fire.

"Say it," she commanded fiercely, fingers tugging at his hair, forcing him to meet her gaze. His eyes narrowed and he groaned as she tugged on his hair again, her muscles clenching around him as he continued to thrust into her.

"I love you, Leonie," he growled and then his tongue plunged into her mouth, preventing either from speaking as their tempo quickened; their bodies were slick with sweat. The end came quickly for Leonie, a high keening cry from her, his name and her love for him mingling with his own as he followed her, spilling his seed into her with a shudder and then another before he collapsed on her, spent.

In the morning he was gone. In his place was a note in his simple, unadorned script.

_I tried to wake you but you were snoring so loudly you never heard me._

_I imagine you'll want privacy when you tour the Grey Warden compound. Gills and Tranace will take you there. They'll know where to find me later._

_L_

Leonie huffed. She did not snore, damn his impudence. But she was smiling as she dressed in her Warden leathers. It was the last smile she would wear for a number of hours.

The guards, both in plain, serviceable armor, were waiting for her outside her room. Gills was young, with a freshly scrubbed face and a compact and wiry build, bright blonde hair cut short and grey eyes wide. Tranace was tall and rawboned, with iron grey eyes and a warrior's braid of dark chestnut. He was definitely the older of the two, and the less talkative.

"Warden Commander," he said and for the next ten minutes, as they made their way through the palace and then out into the damp morning, he said nothing else.

"Are you really the Lion of Orlais?" Gills asked, a bright patch of color on each cheek as he spoke.

Leonie resisted the urge to roll her eyes. How had so many of the people of Ferelden learned of her nickname? "I am Warden Commander Leonie, or just Commander," she replied kindly and the young man ducked his head in acknowledgement.

"Are you recruiting?" he asked a minute later. "I'm a good blade," he added hopefully.

"Indeed? Are you not in the service of Queen Anora?" Leonie asked with some interest. In her experience recruiting a monarch's guards was never a good idea. She had done it only once and Celene had not been happy.

"Oh right enough you are, Warden Commander, but there's plenty of us who'd like to be Greys," the young man continued. Tranace gave him a quelling look and the young man blushed again, falling silent.

"Your service to your sovereign does you great credit," she remarked and before he could say more they arrived at a stone and timber building tucked into the far corner of the palace grounds. There was a small training yard with two dilapidated target dummies leaning forlornly against each other off to the left of the building. Leonie felt her hands begin to tremble as she unlocked the door.

"Please wait here," she said quietly and her voice trembled slightly as well.

She entered and stepped into the barracks with a row of bunk beds but the footlockers were gone, no doubt lost at Ostagar. Leonie felt a wave of relief. She didn't think she could go through thirty footlockers, her emotions already twining around the knot in her stomach and squeezing.

Off to one side of the large room was a single bed, no doubt for Aeric, Duncan's second. A long table with benches, placed near a cooking hearth, stood bare, coated in dust. She could almost see the men gathered there, laughing and enjoying meals together. A tremor ran through her. Duncan's men. Gone now, all but forgotten. The room was dusty and cobwebbed, a sad and lonely sight that made Leonie's heart ache. She walked down the row of beds and then carefully opened the door at the far end of the room.

A desk stood against the near wall. Over the desk was the shield Duncan had received when he took command of the Grey of Ferelden, dark blue and emblazoned with a silver griffon. She recalled so clearly how proud he'd been, taking over as commander. He had laughed when he'd received the shield, he'd never used one before and so he had hung it on the wall, a reminder, he said, of all those who had fallen in service to the Grey. She reached out and ran a finger along the griffon's wings as tears gathered.

Sitting down at the desk, she sighed, her sorrow stirring to life. She gripped her hands tightly as she struggled for control of her tears. Duncan would have been appalled at the dust and rust collecting on things here. She opened one of the drawers and her eyes settled on a letter, never sent and still sealed. She recognized Riordan's flowing script and it was addressed to her. She blew the dust off the letter and blamed the motes, hanging suspended in the still air, for her watering eyes. When she had control of her emotions, she broke the seal with shaky fingers and began to read.

_My sweet lass,_

_I know we didn't part on the best of terms, but you know I love you, don't you? I couldn't let you come here and sacrifice yourself. We both know Duncan would have come from the Beyond to kill me if I'd allowed that. So if you're reading this, the Blight has ended and you can begin the rebuilding process. Duncan's right about you, much as I hate agreeing with the old man. You were always meant to assume command of the Grey of Ferelden._

_You might have a problem on your hands, lass. You've me to thank if that's the case. We conscripted Loghain. Whatever it takes and it will take a man who knows how to command an army to do this. I know you'll understand. _

_Remember that episode with the honey and feathers? That's when I knew that Duncan and I had finally met our match. Don't forget to have fun, Lion. I'd hate to think I wasted all those practical jokes on someone who'll never play them on anyone else._

_I wish I could have saved him for you, Lion. I wish you'd had your chance to say goodbye._

_Do us proud, lass. Do us proud._

_Ever your Peacock,_

_Riordan_

She put her head down on the desk and closed her eyes, missing them both so deeply she couldn't breathe for long moments. It seemed like a lifetime ago, her time with them. She was a different person now, shaped and reshaped by her losses and a new life. She wouldn't let go completely of Duncan and Riordan, they had helped define who she became. But she no longer clung to their memories so desperately, no longer felt the searing stab of pain when she thought of them. But here, in this dusty, forgotten room, they were a living presence to her and she sat for a long time, lost in her memories.

When she was sure she had her emotions once more under control, she continued going through the contents of the desk. Duncan's recruitment records and his roster of the dead were in the second drawer and she took them and added them to a small pile of things she would be taking with her. She found Riordan's notes on his trip to Ostagar, but couldn't bring herself to read them so she added them to the pile instead.

When she had finished going through the desk, she carefully removed the shield from its mount on the wall, thinking of Alistair. He would appreciate it more than any other Ferelden Warden and Duncan would like the idea, she knew. She noted sadly that his footlocker was also gone and with another look around, she quietly closed the door to his room and made her way out of the barracks.

Tears danced on her lashes, teased at her throat. But she held tightly to them, held tightly to the items she had collected as well, feeling rough and raw and scraped bare as she followed the guards back to her room. If the guards spoke on the way back to her room, she was unaware of it and she was surprised to find herself standing at her door. She didn't remember anything about the walk back from the compound.

The Archdemon blood and important documents, once stored in the warehouse vault, had been transferred to the Keep months earlier and she was not, by the Maker, going to go rummage through the warehouse today. She didn't think her nerves could stand it, she knew her heart couldn't. Sometime soon she would have to go through all the records and Riordan's notes. Sooner or later she would have to face Ostagar. Those thoughts made her feel physically ill.

Lunch was brought to her as she was cleaning the dust out of her hair and off her hands. She nodded and thanked the maid but the thought of eating made her stomach scream in protest. Instead, she curled up on her bed and closed her eyes, letting her tears out, silently weeping until she fell asleep.

When she woke, she found Loghain sitting quietly in a chair, reading.


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N: **_A break from angst to take a look in on the Wardens at the Keep while Leonie and Loghain are in Denerim, from various PoVs. And big thanks to Nithu for the idea regarding Varel. I appreciate it so much!_

…**Meanwhile, Back at the Keep…**

Anders sprawled in a chair, Pounce curled up in his lap, book in one hand, apple in another. If someone came up and asked what he was reading, he wouldn't have been able to tell them. Once again his thoughts were on a certain blue eyed beauty. There was intelligence and remarkable kindness in those eyes. He waxed poetic on the particular shade of blue. Not cerulean. Certainly not the color of the sky. Soft blue, the color a summer breeze would be if it were a color. Yes, that sounded good. And Maker, when she smiled it gave him the most curious feeling all the way to his toes.

In all his conquests with women, none had ever quite reached his heart. As varied as they had been, and they had been extremely varied he realized with just a bit of embarrassment, none had ever captured his attention like _she_ had. She hadn't even shown the slightest hint that she was interested in him, treated him as any of the other Wardens in fact. But that didn't stop his imagination and his heart from wanting her to see him differently.

_She's in mourning, for Maker's sake, you big arse. _Well, yes, that was true and he was trying to be patient but the thought that she might find someone else attractive before he let his feelings be known made him cringe. But then again, she might not be ready for anyone, it hadn't been that long since she'd been widowed. He took a large bite out of the apple and absently scratched Pounce's back. If the mages at the circle could see him mooning over a woman there would be no end to the ribbing he would receive.

Anders, apostate and Warden, lover of women across Thedas, had finally fallen in love. Even _he_ couldn't believe that of himself. He had a reputation for loving and leaving women and he knew she was not the kind to stand for his behavior. No-one was more surprised that he felt willing to give up that cavalier treatment of the fairer sex than he was. He found himself doing all the revoltingly juvenile things he had always harassed others for. Following her around. Finding excuses to be in her company, even ridiculously obvious reasons.

With Leonie gone before he could talk to her about his feelings, he was forced to work it through on his own or talk to his fellow Wardens about it and that just wasn't going to happen. Bad enough the harassment he'd garner when it came out. He groaned. Freedom was a terrible burden at times. This would never have happened to him had he stated in the tower. Of course he would have gone insane had he stayed but he wouldn't be trying to figure out how to approach the woman who'd managed to capture his heart either.

"What do you think, Pounce? Should I just come out and tell her or pretend I'm not behaving like an idiot?" Anders asked.

"I'm all for honesty, myself," Nathaniel responded, sauntering into the room. Or at least that's the term Anders used for it. There was never any hurry with Nathaniel's moves, just a quiet catlike grace and it annoyed Anders, who was anything but quiet or catlike. Grace he could sometimes manage. The other two? Not going to happen.

"Ah. Is that why I hear Tamra finally asked you to marry her?" Anders shot back and softened his words with a grin.

"You think it doesn't take talent to get a woman to propose marriage?" Nathaniel retorted with a rather smug smile. Really, Anders thought yet again, Nathaniel could have been Loghain's son. Both were dark, taciturn and smug men. Smug. Very smug, Anders concluded. Very, very _very_ smug, he amended mentally.

"I actually proposed to Tamra when I was five. I'd just hit her in the arm with my first training sword. She pulled my hair, giggled and ran off. I feel like I've been chasing her ever since," Nate confided, throwing himself into the chair opposite Anders.

"So who is the mystery woman?" he asked, arms behind his head as he leaned back in his chair.

"Why? So you can try and get her to propose to you too?" Anders asked sourly but his mood, more upbeat than anything, reasserted itself and he grinned to take the sting out of his words.

"Just curious what kind of woman would make you get tongue tied," Nate admitted honestly. Anders groaned.

"Not tongue tied, just a bit unsure of the right approach," Anders corrected quickly. He had a reputation to maintain, Maker take him.

"Ah. How many approaches are there?" Nate asked and Anders fixed him with a baleful glare.

"Not helping," he muttered and tossed his half eaten apple at his dark haired tormenter. Without blinking or flinching, Nathaniel caught it and took a bite before sending it sailing back at Anders who shot it with a bolt of lightning. That had always been his defense mechanism for unexpected objects heading his way.

Nate chuckled. "Remind me not to toss anything I value at unsuspecting mages," he remarked as the sizzling apple landed with a mushy thud on the table next to him.

"So, tell me who this woman is," Nathaniel said again.

"Three clues and if you get it right, I'll tell you so," Anders said with a cocky grin. He really was better than this mopey dope he'd been the past day or two.

"You're on, mage," Nate agreed.

"She has blue eyes."

"That excludes Tamra, which is a lucky thing for you. Me too, come to think of it. Can't imagine Lion would be happy to return and find her only healer gone," Nate remarked with a quiet snicker.

Anders toyed with the idea of hitting Nate with a jolt of lightning but he was too comfortably ensconced in his chair to have to jump and run from Nate's retaliation. "She's not a redhead," Anders remarked, watching as Nate frowned thoughtfully.

"So not Mistress Lillith, although I don't really know what color her eyes are, come to think of it."

"She's a widow," Anders said and Nate came out of his chair, eyes wide in alarm.

"Not Lion!" Nate said loudly, clearly horrified at the thought.

"Shhhh, Nate. You'll bring the whole Keep in here with that voice," Anders complained. "And no, not Lion." Even across the room he could hear Nate's exhaled relief.

"Sigrun?" Nate asked next and then shook his head. "No, she's dead, not widowed," he added almost in the same breath.

"I'm dead? Really?" Sigrun asked, feigning shock as she entered the room with a cheeky smile. "Right, right. Dead woman walking," she added, thumping her chest in her customary way whenever she said that. She spotted the singed, half eaten apple on the table and raised her brows.

"If I didn't know better, I'd say Lion was cooking again. She is still gone, right?" Sigrun asked with another cheeky smile, reaching down and picking up the apple.

"Oh, you poor bastard," Nate said as he figured it out. Anders raised his hands, fingers dancing with electricity, the threat clear.

"Take your best shot, mage. Just know that I don't get mad, I get even," Nate warned good-naturedly.

"Why's Anders blasting apples and why's he a poor bastard?" Sigrun asked, taking a tentative bite of the apple.

"What?" she asked as both men stared at her, mouths agape. "You've never been so hungry you'd eat your own shoe leather if you had the right spices?" she asked, munching the apple with relish. "Besides, it's not like anything in the place is allowed to get dirty, not with Aura around. She's amazing."

"Aura? Who said anything about Aura?" Anders asked quickly and then shook his head. He really was a fool if he couldn't even let an innocuous remark go by. Sooner or later everyone in the Keep would know how he felt. It still shocked him that Wardens could have so many little secrets about the Order but couldn't keep a personal secret to save their skin.

"Ah, so I was right," Nate said and stood up. He was still smirking when he left the library in search of Tamra, who was sitting with the object of Ander's infatuation. Nate sat down at the table with the two women, who were drinking tea together.

"Hello love," he said, dropping a kiss on Tamra's fair hair. She looked up with a smile, her green eyes shining.

Nate's heart sped up. He still couldn't believe his luck. She'd actually waited all those years for him. She could have had her pick of almost anyone in the arling but she'd waited for him to return. He had only managed to get one letter to her in all those years. Just a few lines to ask if she could find it in her heart to give him a chance. And she had.

"Nate, did you know that Lion once set an entire field of winter wheat on fire to protect her men?" she asked. "The woman has no fear," she added with an admiring chuckle.

Like you, Nathaniel thought affectionately and smiled at his fiancée. "So Laurent told us," he said and then frowned at the thought of Laurent. Tamra reached over and squeezed his hand.

"It was difficult for all of us to watch her go through that, Nate, but she's resilient," Aura said softly. "She'll recover and he'll be very sorry he hurt her. She does not take betrayal well," Aura added.

"She really did duel that chevalier, didn't she?" Nate asked.

"The _Chevalier Dirigeant _still wants her punished and the duel was fought six years ago. She's a bit of a hero to the Warden servants in Orlais and also to many of the elves there."

"Why? I mean, we know she killed a chevalier in a duel but she never told us why," Tamra said, leaning forward but Aura shook her head, smiling.

"I'll not be the one to tell you if she hasn't," Aura said without apology.

Before the conversation could continue, Sigrun and Anders joined them and Aura offered to go and get more mugs and some of Terrill's spice cakes.

"Allow me, dear lady," Anders offered, giving her his most dazzling smile. She inclined her head and seemed about to protest but then nodded.

"Thank you, Anders. For some reason my ankles are swollen today."

As Anders went to the kitchen, he groaned. Oh yeah, not only was she still grieving, but she was pregnant with her deceased husband's baby. Could he have lost his heart to anyone more unsuitable? He doubted it.

It came as no surprise to him that Nate had first thought it was Lion who'd captured his interest. The woman was gorgeous and who doesn't love a powerful woman but there had been something unapproachable about Lion when she first arrived and by the time she had come out of her numbed state, she'd fallen right into Loghain's arms. Not surprising really, he knew. Women like Leonie Caron needed the strong angry types. No, he'd fallen for Aura the first time he'd held her in his arms as she cried for her dead husband. How pathetic was that? Very, he added glumly as he carried out the mugs and cakes. Very, very pathetic. He was the King of Pathetic.

Sigrun sighed as she stuffed yet another spice cake into her mouth. What wasn't to love about a life that consisted of eating good food and killing darkspawn with your friends? Even when she missed the stone and especially when she missed Varlan, she could rely on her Warden friends to remind her that she wasn't in Dust Town and she didn't have to scramble just to survive.

Some day she wouldn't mind going back to Dust Town just to check on her brother Stig. Some day she would have to ask Lion if there was room for another dwarf Warden. But there was still a part of her that was afraid they'd see through her and kick her out. She'd been a thief, and worse, before she'd become a member of the Legion.

She hoped Stig was staying out of trouble. He was a good kid, younger than her but smarter, taught himself how to read and cipher and then taught her too. She missed him, missed his cheerful smile and his smart mouth. Sometimes it felt like she'd been away her whole life. But even missing her brother, she didn't miss Dust Town or the thugs who would be only too happy to try and recruit her back into a life that had nearly killed her. She'd go back some day, but only to visit.

"Hey Sigrun, don't you want to go with us?" Nate asked and she realized she'd been so lost in memories she hadn't noticed everyone leaving.

"Where're you going?" she asked, jumping up. Family. It was a good thing to belong to a family. Even this motley group. Sigrun smiled as she followed them out of the dining hall.

Varel had never married, never had a family and thus had never been a parent. He had spent his youth apprenticing as a seneschal until the rebellion and then he had traded in his apprenticeship for swords and joined in the fight to free Ferelden from the Orlesian occupation, fighting alongside nobles and farmers. Even though he had been offered a high ranking position among the newly formed Ferelden Army, he had returned to the vocation he felt he was best suited for. It was not until Rendon Howe became the arl that Varel regretted his decision.

However, when Leonie Caron arrived at the Vigil, all that changed. There was something about the young woman that touched a paternal chord in him that he hadn't even known existed. She was, without a doubt, as stubborn as a mabari and as courageous as any warrior he had ever known. She had saved his life when she arrived and now she was restoring his faith in the generosity of nobility, the _noblesse oblige_ that she believed so strongly in.

Somehow she had an unshakeable faith in Varel and as he made his way up to the third floor of the Keep in search of Alistair, he wondered if maybe her faith had been misplaced, if maybe someone else might be better suited to keeping an eye on the boy. Alistair was a mess, even Varel could see that. Where Nathaniel had been bitter about the dishonor brought to his family's name, he had been willing to finally believe letting go of the bitterness was the better road to take. Alistair didn't seem to be able to let go of his bitterness toward Loghain and Loghain seemed just as disinclined to forgive Alistair for kidnapping Leonie.

Varel gave Leonie credit for knowing people. He'd been relieved when she hadn't recruited Oghren, whose time in the Keep before her arrival had been marked by constant bouts of drunkenness and the most colorful cures Varel had ever heard, and he'd been in the army, he _knew_ curses. The dwarf might have made a great soldier or even a fine Warden if he'd been sober long enough to do anything but stagger and swing blindly. But she hadn't hesitated to conscript an apostate or a man who was there to kill her or the man who many said killed her husband. So if she believed that Alistair was redeemable and that Varel could help in that, he was willing to try.

Alistair was sitting on his bed, carefully polishing a pauldron when Varel knocked. He was a good looking lad, Varel noticed, a lot of the Theirin came out in his features and when his face wasn't marred by a brittle bitterness, Alistair looked a lot like Maric had when Varel had first met him.

"The others are going to Amaranthine now that the rain's stopped. They're leaving in an hour. You don't want to join them?" Varel asked, wondering again how he had been talked into trying to keep an eye on Alistair while Leonie was away.

Alistair shook his head, and then looked up and gave him a wry grin. "They're still kind of nervous around the crazy drunk," he said and laughed. "I say it and it sounds like I'm talking about someone else," Alistair finished, returning to his polishing.

"They'll just keep thinking that if you stay locked up in your room all the time," Varel asserted, wondering what he could say to the lad that Leonie hadn't already said.

Varel took a seat and stared up at the portrait of Duncan. "Seems a shame to waste the talent he saw in you," Varel said gently, his eyes locking on Alistair's. "He saw something in you. Commander Leonie still does."

Alistair stood and walked the length of his small room in agitated strides. "I know that. I know they see something. I thought for awhile I…" Alistair trailed off and ran a hand through his short hair. "The Grey Wardens meant everything to me, Duncan meant everything to me."

Varel nodded encouragingly at the young man, who pivoted and came back to stand in front of Duncan's portrait. "He was the first person who ever cared about me, who cared about what I wanted."

"The first, but not the last, Warden. Do you know that Commander Leonie stood outside that entrance to the Deep Roads the entire twelve hours you were in there? She wouldn't leave, just kept waiting. She never lost faith in your ability to survive," Varel said quietly.

Alistair stared at him in surprise and then ran anxious fingers along the frame of Duncan's portrait. "I disappointed him. I let him die," the young man said, bowing his head in grief.

"I believe the darkspawn did that, Alistair. From everything we've heard the Wardens and the King's men had no chance," Varel began but Alistair turned, his face twisted in bitterness.

"Don't you dare defend Loghain to me! Don't you dare!" he cried at Varel.

Varel stood up and came to the young man, placing a firm hand on Alistair's shoulder. "I'm not defending anyone, lad. I'm telling you that everything I have heard says there was no hope of saving them. Even the Orlesian Wardens saw that once they read the reports," he said grimly. He had seen the reports himself, sent the reports and dispatches to the First Warden by his own hand, but Alistair seemed unable or unwilling to see the truth. Varel searched his mind for something else that might break through to him.

"Do you really think that Commander Leonie would have Loghain here if she believed he was responsible for Duncan's death? Don't answer me until you really think about it, lad," Varel said and gave Alistair's shoulder another squeeze.

"If you find the answer, I'll be in my office," Varel added and made his way back down the three flights of stairs to his office. Once there, he let out a groan as he sat down. He felt sure he was going to disappoint Leonie; he simply wasn't adequately trained as a father figure.

Sinking into his chair, he pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to remind himself why he had taken the job as seneschal. Certainly not to babysit wayward young Wardens and ensure bitter young men let go of their anger and hurt. He pulled a stack of papers in front of him and began to go through them. She would just have to live with his failings as a role model for Alistair, he decided.

"Varel?" Aura asked, stepping into the room.

"Yes Aura? Was there something you needed?" he asked, feeling old and tired as he looked up at her fresh face. Had he ever been young? Not in a very long time.

"No ser. But we wanted to know if you wanted to go with us? It might do you some good to get away. Leonie complains that you work all the time. She made me promise to get you away from your desk," Aura said and smiled shyly at him.

Varel stared at her, both pleased and surprised that Leonie had taken the time to make sure he was looked after as well. "I suppose the paperwork can wait a few more hours," he said and found himself smiling as he went to get his cloak.

"Do you suppose that Anora and Leonie are getting along?" Tamra asked as they all gathered in the great hall.

"I pity Loghain if they aren't," Sigrun snickered. They all laughted good naturedly at that.

They were just about to set out when Varel heard the clatter of boots on the stairs. "Not too late am I?" Alistair asked, coming to join them.

Maybe Leonie was right, Varel thought with a satisfied smile lurking in his muddy brown eyes. Maybe everyone just needed to know they were wanted.


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N: **_Thank you all for your continued interest in Leonie and Loghain's story. I appreciate it more than I can say.  
This chapter is a split PoV._

**Feasting**

"What does he mean by the heart of the blightstorm?" Loghain asked Leonie, looking up from the notes he was reading.

Leonie sat up and rubbed her eyes. "Why good afternoon Leonie. Did you enjoy your rest?" she mocked, trying to imitate Loghain's voice.

"As you were snoring, I assumed you did," Loghain replied drolly, his eyes returning to the papers in his hand. She huffed at that and tossed a pillow at his head but he batted it away before returning to the notes, trying to decipher Riordan's spidery script.

"Tell me why he was looking in Ostagar for it," Loghain commanded and Leonie, tempted to remind him yet again that she was the commander, merely sat cross legged on the bed and began to explain.

"When the darkspawn break the surface in large enough numbers it is called a blightstorm. All living things die where it occurs and the heart of such an area must be examined, yes? Wardens go underground to make sure there are no longer hordes of darkspawn at that location. We look for anything that might help us determine why they chose that spot to break through to the surface and then we seal the area off, like we did with the chasm at Kal Hirol. Once the area is sealed we cleanse it with fire to stop the taint from continuing to poison the land. It does not help that area, but it does stop the spread," Leonie explained.

"The Anderfels is full of such places; much of their land is permanently blighted. Nothing grows there, nothing survives there at all, not even the smallest of insects, nor the birds in the sky. People who spend too long there can suffer the darkspawn plague and die, or worse. That is why there are so many Wardens in the Anderfels, over one thousand. They are continually working to heal the land, stop the attacks. Believe me, we do not wish the same fate on Ferelden," Leonie finished, voice grim.

She would never forget the sight of the Anderfels nor the Silent Plain between the Tevinter Imperium and Nevarra; vast tracts of dead and tainted land where even the wind seemed reluctant to go. She knew the taint had spread north as far as West Hills but she also knew the worst of it was still contained within the heart of the blightstorm and she wanted it to remain so.

"I shall have to go to Ostagar and ensure this is done. I had hoped to wait until spring but perhaps it would be wiser to go sooner. Does he say where he found the heart?"

"He does but he doesn't seem to have done anything about it," Loghain began and his tone irked Leonie. She gave him a fierce frown. It wasn't as if one Warden, one _man_, could have done anything about the blightstorm but Loghain's voice was slightly condemning.

"I suspect because he was alone and recognized the danger of lingering. By then he would have realized the Archdemon was on the march. With so few Wardens available, he had no choice," Leonie interrupted coolly. "And this is not the time to discuss this," she added, unfolding her legs and sliding off the bed.

Loghain looked up and she saw his surprise at her sudden coldness. He carefully placed the notes back on her desk and stood up as well. "So it would seem," he agreed with an equal coolness in his voice.

"Now that I have told you of the blightstorm, perhaps you can tell me of these nobles who come to feast on me, yes?" she added, trying towarm the sudden chill in the room.

"Feast on us both, I should imagine," Loghain noted dryly as he moved toward her, his eyes still penetrating as he met her look.

Leonie chuckled. "Yes, we shall both be food for them," she agreed. "But we are both warriors which means we are tough and grizzled and they shall leave disappointed," she added, meeting him halfway and smiling up at him.

Loghain snorted at that. "Yes, I'm sure they'll look at you and the very first thing they'll say is that you are tough and grizzled," he responded sarcastically, before reaching out and brushing her sleep tousled hair away from her face. "Or they will fawn over you, seeking your favor," he added with no small amount of contempt.

"Who will be the most difficult of them, do you suppose?"

"Who won't be?" he responded quietly, moving to sit back down and bringing her with him. She settled on his lap.

For the next hour they discussed the politics of Ferelden. Leonie had always thought that Orlesian politics complicated and convoluted but by the end of their discussion, she realized that Ferelden politics, while vastly different, would be just as difficult to maneuver through. She wished fervently that she was back at the Vigil with her Wardens.

"At least Teyrn Cousland has already left for Highever. He can't be happy about your decisions," Loghain finished but before she could ask him to elaborate she was interrupted by a knock on her door.

"Queen Anora sent me to help you dress for the banquet, Warden Commander," a young elven woman explained, dropping a curtsy. Leonie felt a moment of panic and looked over her shoulder at Loghain who seemed highly amused at her discomfort. Impossible man, she thought uncharitably before turning back to the maid.

"Please thank Queen Anora but I am not in need of help," Leonie began but the maid, her eyes not quite meeting Leonie's, shook her head.

"She was most adamant, my lady," the maid apologized, refusing to be deterred.

Leonie felt no small amount of exasperation at the high-handedness of the queen, but finally allowed the maid to enter her room although she sent Loghain a withering glare. He was between their rooms now, his smug smile in place.

"You could have offered to help," she hissed at him as the maid went to Leonie's armoire and began to examine the gown that Leonie had chosen for the night's banquet.

"Yes, because clearly I am a lady's maid," Loghain responded with a smirk and, as he shut the door between their rooms, she heard his snicker.

The maid, Willara, was making little disapproving clucking noises as she laid the dress across Leonie's bed. "What jewelry will you be wearing?" Willara asked as she smoothed the overskirt of Leonie's gown.

A small ripple of panic in her stomach assaulted Leonie. She owned no jewelry other than her ring and a few small trinkets, which she had not bothered to pack. She shook her head, chiding herself. These things had never mattered to her before, even at Celene's court, they would not bother her now.

"I wear neither jewelry nor make-up, Willara. There seems little enough for you to assist me with, yes?" Leonie said as kindly as she could, trying to usher the young woman out of her room. Willara merely smiled and went to prepare Leonie's bath. Leonie's frustration came out in a long suffering sigh.

"No oils, please!" she added but of course it was too late. She was assaulted by the smell of roses and verbena. She blamed Loghain for these indignities she was suffering and wished him the same fate.

Sighing as she was laced into the boned bodice of her gown, she wondered how long she was expected to stay at the banquet. As she was one of the guests of honor, she supposed as long as the queen was present she would have to remain as well. At least she was wearing comfortable leather shoes. The rage in Orlais when she left had been narrow little shoes with pointed toes and small heels that made walking nearly impossible. Especially for someone used to leather boots or heavy plate greaves.

Finally, the maid stepped back and smiled at her. "You look very nice, Warden Commander. The plainer styles suit you."

As Leonie considered it her most lavish gown, she could only smile sympathetically at the young woman's obvious disappointment. A rose silk gown with a dove gray brocaded stomacher and front panel, long gathered sleeves and a square, unadorned bodice. Plain by most standards, she supposed, but its history gave her confidence and her fear about the evening fell away from her. The day fripperies defined her was the say Leonie would quietly retire from the Wardens.

"Thank you for your help, Willara. You may go now," Leonie said, slipping the young woman some coins. Willara blushed and bobbed a quick curtsy.

"You don't think the queen pays her?" Loghain asked as he stepped into the room, amusement dancing in his voice.

Now it was Leonie's turn to blush. Of course the queen paid her. She turned to give him a tart reply and stopped.

Loghain looked like a handsome stranger in the soft lighting. His fitted black velvet doublet with its slashed sleeves, trimmed in silver braidwork and silver buttons, served to emphasize his broad shoulders and tapered waist. His breeches and polished black boots showed his muscular legs off beautifully. She found she had momentarily lost her breath and her ability to speak. Austere, powerful and very appealing.

"You look…" he began and then stopped as he noticed her appraisal. If Loghain was the type to preen, he would be doing so, she thought with a wry twist of her lips. Were all men secretly vain, she found herself wondering.

"If you are going to compliment me in your usual manner, please resist," she said quickly, smiling at him. Loghain smirked as he offered her a velvet clad arm.

"Not terrible," he concluded and her laughter bubbled up inside her.

"Well, that _is _high praise," she agreed, still laughing as they made their way to the banquet hall.

Just before Blakely announced them, Loghain took the hand that rested on his arm and brought it to his lips, brushing a light kiss over her knuckles, his glance reassuring and steady. Before she could say anything, Blakely opened the doors to the room.

"Savior of Amaranthine, Commander of the Grey of Ferelden, Arlessa Leonie Caron of Amaranthine!" he intoned gravely.

_For the love of the Maker! Savior of Amaranthine? _Fereldans were no better with titles than Orlesians, Leonie thought sourly, trying to fix a smile on her face as she entered the hall. The room was not crowded with nobles but there were almost twenty people milling or talking in small groups. She had little time to notice the actual room before Loghain was announced.

"Savior of Amaranthine, Hero of Ferelden, Hero of River Dane, Senior Warden Loghain Mac Tir!"

Leonie bit the inside of her lip trying not to laugh. If she hated titles and pomp and ceremony, she could only imagine how wretched Loghain was feeling after that introduction but before she could make a comment, Blakely was making another announcement.

"Her Majesty, Anora Mac Tir Theirin, Queen of Ferelden!"

Leonie barely had time to drop into a formal curtsy before Anora was upon her. Dressed in a sumptuous gown of watered silk of dark blue, the queen was lovely, her smile regal, her carriage dignified. She stopped before Leonie and her smile warmed.

"I trust your day was not too difficult, Warden Commander?" she asked sympathetically and Leonie returned her smile.

"No, your Majesty," she lied and then she was separated from both Anora and Loghain as people began to crowd around the queen.

Leonie took the time to study the room. Long and narrow, the walls were covered in the various banners of the nobility, colorful and oddly cheerful splashes of color in the otherwise stark room. A complement of guards at each of the doors and behind the queen's table were standing straight and tall in their polished armor. A fire burned cheerfully in the large stone fireplace at the end of the room and the banquet tables, draped in the queens' colors, were set with fine tableware, interspersed with gleaming silver candelabras. Liveried servants with trays of food and goblets of wine mingled with the nobility. While not as sumptuous as Celene's court, it never-the-less suited both Queen Anora and Ferelden.

"You are even lovelier than I remember," a vaguely familiar voice at her side said and she turned with a polite smile to find herself looking into a pair of dancing blue green eyes. The handsome man before her had an open face and an engaging smile that she found herself responding to. His nut brown hair was carefully styled and his goatee neatly trimmed; he was a very attractive man and someone she had seen somewhere. She just wasn't sure where.

"Thank you, ser," she responded with a blush as she tried to recall when and where they had met.

"Perhaps you would remember me if you were once again lost on a road in the Bannorn," he offered helpfully with another amused smile.

A man, in hunting leathers, offering assistance on her first visit to the Bannorn. Her blush deepened. "I do remember, my Lord, though it seems a lifetime ago," she responded.

"Ah, so you do remember," he teased with a flirtatious grin. She remembered his charm and wit then and he seemed not to have changed at all. "I'm flattered that one so lovely as yourself would remember me," he added, inclining his head slightly as he held her gaze.

"I also remember that we were never officially introduced," she replied and at this he bowed slightly.

"I am Teagan Guerrin. In those days I was Bann Teagan of Rainesfere, but through the graciousness of her Majesty, Queen Anora, I am now Teagan, Arl of Denerim," he introduced formally.

"It is a pleasure, Arl Teagan," she replied with the same formality and dropped a slight curtsy.

"Oh no. That won't do at all. You don't really wish to be called Arlessa Leonie, do you?" he teased and she shuddered.

"Most assuredly not," she said emphatically.

"Then since we are of equal rank, it is only fair that we use our given names, wouldn't you agree?" he continued with a warm and utterly charming smile.

Leonie couldn't help the answering smile that responded to his banter. She remembered now how irresistible his smile had been when she had first encountered him. It was no less so now. She felt herself relaxing slightly.

"And you are brother to Eamon Guerrin?" she asked a moment later as he took her elbow and guided her out of the crowd.

"I am. See that tall, grey haired man with the thick grey beard? The one with the woman attached to his arm? That's Eamon and his wife Isolde. She too is from Orlais but there the similarity to you ends," he added and flashed another smile at her.

"I have news of his former charge that I am not sure he has heard yet," Leonie explained and Teagan's smile slipped slightly.

"Former charge? Do you mean Alistair?" he asked in surprise. "So the rumor is true," he breathed and his face lit up. It was hard for Leonie not to smile again at his obvious relief.

"Yes. You may wish to inform him that Alistair is well and with his Warden family at the Vigil," she told him and for a moment she thought he was going to embrace her and it must have shown in her expression because he stepped back and instead he took her arm and led her to Eamon and Isolde Guerrin.

Duncan had been right. Isolde was everything despicable about Orlesians. Her accent was still thick, with the exaggerated whine to it that had been the affectation of the lesser nobles over twenty years ago. She was holding on to her youth with both hands and an over use of the powder pot, Leonie thought as she surveyed the woman. The Arl she found likeable enough but her displeasure at how they had treated Alistair colored her opinion, she knew. She found it hard to believe that Teagan and Eamon were related, so different were they in manner.

"Please, tell me the boy is alright," Eamon urged and Leonie was relieved to hear a genuine affection for Alistair in his voice, though Teagan's reaction had seemed much more enthusiastic and genuine.

"He is recovering, Arl Eamon, though it will take time," Leonie responded guardedly. She would not reveal private details of Alistair's life to a man who had sent him to the Chantry with so little thought for the boy's wishes. She couldn't do that to Alistair, who was still fragile in so many ways. "I am sure when he is completely well he will contact you," she assured him hoping the warning was implicit. Eamon's eyes narrowed but he nodded once.

"Oh, you must come for a visit, Arlessa Leonie. It has been so long since I have had an Orlesian friend to visit with," Isolde broke in, her smile as real as the color of her hair, which was completely without grey and artificially kept that way, Leonie felt sure. And the woman had made no mention of Alistair, which did little to endear her to Leonie. Or Teagan if the hand he'd placed at her elbow was any indication. He was ready to move on as soon as she gave him an inidication that she was as well.

"That is very kind, Arlessa Isolde, but I am afraid it will be some time before my duties would allow for such frivolities," Leonie replied with a polite smile. She dared not look at Teagan, she had heard a snicker at her words and if he was smiling she was afraid she might laugh outright. Women like Isolde she was more than capable of dealing with, she had met them often enough at the Imperial Court.

Teagan proved invaluable to Leonie as he guided her around the room, introducing her to the few nobles who remained in Denerim. Most had returned home for the winter months and those that remained would be leaving soon. But there was tension in the room, for all Teagan's charm, and Leonie leaned closer to mention it to him.

"I am afraid, dear lady, that we have yet to recover from the civil war or the Blight. Truth be told, there are some here who are less than happy that you kept Loghain in Ferelden. They fear he will become involved in politics again. Considering that some of these people lost loved ones in Ostagar and during the Blight, it should not be surprising," Teagan explained.

Leonie turned to study the handsome arl. He met her look without artifice and she saw that he was not one of those concerned. "Why do you not feel that way, Teagan? Surely you suffered as well? Was King Cailan not your nephew?" she finally asked, deciding to be as forthright as possible with the man.

Teagan's gaze was direct as he spoke. "He was and my friend as well. I am no military man, just a warrior, but I am a realist, Leonie. Had Loghain not pulled his troops, we would have not had enough men to fight the Blight.

"However, my dear lady, he made some brutal, fatally flawed decisions and there are those who think he should have been drawn and quartered for treason," he finished on a grave note. "Or worse," he added, glancing at Loghain and then returning his gaze to her.

"And do you think such a thing, Teagan?" she asked quietly.

"I think that it's very difficult to be a general during a war and entirely too easy to be a soldier afterwards, second guessing decisions that they themselves were too afraid to make. I also think the country has seen enough death, Leonie. I am not a man who hates, who holds grudges. Eamon tells me it is laziness on my part, and perhaps it's true," Teagan finished with an appealing smile. Leonie very much doubted that. He was astute and whether he liked his position or not, he would make a wonderful ally or a dangerous adversary.

"Are the nobles really concerned because I have a Howe, a Theirin and a Mac Tir under one roof?" she asked, continuing to hold his gaze.

"The mighty triumvirate, eh? Yes, I have heard that particular rumor. As the Theirin involved detests the Mac Tir involved, I can't see a cause for alarm but the new Teyrn of Gwaren, Leonas Bryland, is very concerned about it. He and Bryce Cousland were the best of friends and there was a time, after King Maric died, that Bryce Cousland's name was put forward to become king. Bryland brought it forth and had Bryce not refused, things might have been very different indeed.

"Bryland's a good man. A fair man. Give him time to come around."

They continued to stroll around the room and Leonie leaned closer to whisper, "That very sad looking man talking to Arl Eamon, who is he?"

"Arl Gallagher Wulff. He lost everything in the Blight; his sons, most of the freeholders. The very land of his arling, West Hills, has been devastated by the Blight. He hates everyone at the moment, the poor man."

Leonie's heart went out to the man. Grief had etched permanent lines in his face, bowed his shoulders. The look in his eyes was both haunting and haunted.

"But come, lovely lady, do not let us dwell on these matters. You are here to be honored," Teagan said, once again taking her arm and leading her around the room.

"Who is that pretty woman that keeps glancing at us?"

"My future wife, if Eamon has any say in the matter. Which he doesn't, as I keep reminding him," Teagan said with a laugh.

"She was Bann Alfstanna of the Waking Sea but is now Arlessa Alfstanna of South Reach. Between Ostagar, the Blight, and the civil war, many nobles were lost," he explained as she raised a brow.

"You Orlesian bit…" a low voice and the man, of medium height and weight with white hair and a thin, sunken face, was so close he was nearly spitting in her face. Leonie took a step back instinctively, her body tensing, preparing for a fight.

"Bann Metterly," Teagan warned, insinuating himself between Leonie and the man. Leonie felt the color drain from her face at the vitriol in the older man's harsh look. Hatred, naked and unadorned.

"We know what you're plotting, whore, and you won't succeed!" the man shouted. Leonie tilted her chin up and pulled her shoulders back. She would not show fear to the man, nor the rest of the nobles who were crowding around to watch the exchange.

"Metterly! That's enough," Teagan warned again, his voice sharper and more forceful.

Leonie tried to find Loghain in the crowd that was gathering around them. There was going to be trouble, she could feel it in the way Metterly was spewing his hate at her and she wanted Loghain to stay away from her, to avoid a confrontation that might cause Loghain's repuation further harm.

"For Ferelden!" Metterly shouted. Leonie's blood chilled in her veins.

* * *

Loghain felt almost like a mourner as he observed the room, made more stark by those who were no longer present. And in an odd way, a part of him was grateful that those who remained were less friends than they were mere acquaintances and some were downright enemies. That knowledge made it easier for him to tolerate being there. Once he had stood in this room and promised his king and friend that no harm would come to Ferelden under his watch. Now, looking at the empty banner holders, seeing the empty chairs, he offered a silent apology to Maric. But the sharpness of his grief and bitterness had been tempered. Lessons admittedly learned the hard way, mistakes that he could not correct and was slowly learning to let go of. Things made easier with time, he supposed.

His eyes fell on Leonie. She had been a lion, proud and untamed, as she had met the nobles, many of whom were her enemies as well. She had been courteous but not obsequious. She was also partly responsible for the easing of his bitterness and regrets, he knew it though he rarely admitted it even to himself. She brought a sense of peace to him. A sense of completeness that was almost foreign to him. As if aware that his eyes were on her, she glanced up and saw him watching her and her smile softened. He quirked his brow and her smile turned wry before she returned her gaze to Teagan.

"You two are nauseating," Anora complained with a teasing smile as she came to stand beside him.

"You would do well to remarry, Anora. Until there is an heir, your rule will continue to be threatened by these vultures," Loghain replied seriously. Anora laughed lightly.

"Father, you are not to meddle in politics or the First Warden will have you sent to Orlais as he originally planned," she warned severely but softened it with a warm smile.

"Where I will gladly go if it means you are securing your throne," he responded with an equally severe tone. He was proud of her, she had not chosen allies but rather enemies to fill the vacated seats of the nobles and that spoke to her wisdom in securing her power. He felt a mix of affection and concern as they stood together surveying the room of nobles.

"She is quite lovely, isn't she?" Anora teased, changing the subject and Loghain felt her eyes studying him. He really didn't want to have this talk with her. Neither of them was good at expressing their emotions. The middle of a banquet hall was hardly the place to suddenly begin trying, but for all their difficulty in expressing their emotions, they both understood the other well enough not to have to express them. He took her hand and folded it over his arm, absently patting it.

"Have you thought about Teagan?" Loghain continued as if she hadn't admonished him moments earlier on the very same subject. "They tell me he is charming and biddable."

"I do not need another charming and biddable husband," Anora snorted. "Really, Father, I mean it," she warned again, her voice tempered by amusement.

"I think Fergus Cousland would be the ideal political choice," he continued, tenacious even though she didn't want to discuss it. He refused to relinquish the conversation so easily and he watched in no small amount of surprise as she blushed.

Loghain refrained from saying more as he watched the color in her cheeks deepen, but the knowledge was tucked away. Had she been carrying around her childhood crush all these years? She had wanted to marry Cailan because she had known it was her duty, and she had wanted to be the queen, had wanted to from an early age. She had also known it was the wish of both her father and the king, but had she wanted more? He frowned slightly. Had the Mac Tirs not given enough in service to Ferelden? Or was there ever an end to duty? He knew the answer well enough, even if he didn't voice it.

"I will agree to marry again just as soon as you do, Father," his daughter replied with a smug smile, effectively ending the conversation. She walked over to greet Arl Sighurd. She really was her father's daughter, he thought with pride and a degree of frustration.

Bann Metterly of Widow's Reach was announced and Loghain found himself tensing. The man had been friends with Howe. Worse, he had been Esmerelle's close friend for years. Metterly walked directly to Teagan and Leonie. Loghain felt the cold stir of anger and foreboding in his stomach as he watched the man. Loghain began to move in the group's direction, his eyes never leaving the trio.

Loghain heard a few muttered words, saw Teagan assume a protective posture in front of Leonie and Loghain's footsteps quickened.

"For Ferelden!" Metterly yelled and then there was pandemonium as Teagan was knocked off his feet by Metterly.

"Dagger!" someone shouted. Loghain heard the hiss of swords being drawn as the guards rushed forward and people began to move toward the milieu. Loghain's heart was thundering in his chest as he broke into a run.

Just as suddenly as they were moving, everyone seemed to stop, except Leonie, who was stumbling backwards, her face ashen, the growing stain of red a splash of brilliant color against the grey stomacher of her gown.

Loghain caught her before she fell and carefully lowered her to the ground. She stared up at him and tried to give him a reassuring smile. "Did I not say they would feast on me?" she said in a soft, wry voice.

Anora took charge immediately and if he hadn't been trying to find Leonie's wound and staunch the bleeding, he would have marveled at how coldly efficient his daughter was. Metterly was taken out by the guards and Teagan was being helped to his feet. Anora was issuing orders and her composure helped settle the crowd.

"Take her to the antechamber, Father," Anora instructed calmly. "I've sent for a healer," she added and Loghain lifted Leonie and made his way to a small room off the banquet hall. Leonie was quiet, her eyes closed.

Once the door shut behind them, Loghain sat her in a chair and began to unlace the stomacher, trying to find the wound. Leonie sighed again. "It is nothing, Loghain. A flesh wound," Leonie protested and she struggled to stand up. "His dagger hit the boning," she explained, trying to help him.

Loghain pushed her fingers away and gently removed the stomacher before unlacing and removing her bodice as well. Her chemise was torn and bloodied and he ripped it more, to allow access to her wound. She was right, his relief so great he almost laughed aloud. Her wound wasn't deep, the flow of blood already slowing. A long, shallow slice that could have killed her had her boning not deflected the blade. Uncomfortable but not deadly. His heart began to slow to its normal pace.

"Damn it, Leonie," he growled as he helped her to her feet and then caught her in his arms, pulling her close. "A week, just one week with no injuries," he admonished angrily before he found her lips.

"That is hardly fair, Loghain," she began, pulling away. Her chin was tilted and he recognized the glitter in her eyes as unshed tears. She was angry and that was a good sign because they both knew she would have to return to the banquet and her anger and pride would serve her well.

"It is not as if I ran into the man's dagger," she continued indignantly but he captured her lips once again.

Less than an hour later, wearing a plain gown and a bright smile, Leonie rejoined the nobles in the banquet hall and the feast began. Loghain did not leave her side for the rest of the evening.

Let the nobles feast on that, he thought with smug satisfaction.


	15. Chapter 15

**For Whom The Lark Sings**

Waking with a start, Leonie realized she was alone. She struggled out of bed and went to the window, pushing the curtain aside. Frothy pink tipped clouds and pale blue skies promised a cold and blustery day with rain before too many more hours. A lark was singing with cheerful persistence, sweet and loud. Freya once told her that larks were a symbol of hope and happiness. She hoped that was true for the day before them promised to be more than a little difficult.

They were to have a meeting with the queen to discuss the recruitment and rebuilding plan for the Grey of Ferelden, followed by a trip to the Grey Warden warehouse and then a service at the Memorial Garden to dedicate a stone to the Grey who had fallen during the Blight. Leonie had contacted the elder of the Alienage, Hahren Valendrian, to discuss recruitment and was meeting with him late in the afternoon.

Loghain was already up and dressed in his plate armor, his mouth set in grim lines. He was gathering his cloak and gauntlets when she came into his room, still rubbing sleepily at her eyes.

"You are off very early this morning," she remarked quietly. He glanced at her and she knew instinctively they were going to fight. He was already prepared for it

Walking up to him, she leaned up and planted a light kiss on his cool lips. He responded stiffly. With a mental sigh, she realized it was going to be a very long day and the lark had not been singing for her after all.

"What have I done now?" she asked, striving for a light tone but there was a heaviness underneath it. She sat down at the small table where a breakfast of tea and toast were already cooling.

"I'm going to Fort Drakon to interview Metterly," Loghain replied as if that answered her question and perhaps, Leonie thought wryly, it did because she rose immediately.

"Give me a moment and I shall go with you," she said, already moving to the door between their rooms.

"No," he began and she paused, mid-step, swiveled and had her hands on her hips, belligerently eyeing him in one fluid motion.

"No? I believe it is my right to interview and interrogate the assailant as I am the injured party, or did I misread that particular part of Ferelden law?" Leonie asked, and there was no mistaking the argumentative overtones in her voice.

Loghain, to his credit, tried to be conciliatory when he spoke. "I don't think that is wise. This matter falls under Ferelden jurisdiction," he responded. And his tone might have worked on her, Leonie thought, had he not all but patted her head like she was a wayward child in his attempt to avoid an argument. The argument raged for ten minutes, Leonie becoming louder and Loghain becoming cooler and more remote.

"As the Arlessa of Amaranthine, I _am_ Fereldan in this matter," she finally retorted, exasperated. "It is only your obstinacy that says otherwise."

"I will remind you, Commander, that the Order has a home in Ferelden at the queen's discretion," Loghain replied and his voice was now accented with frost. "Going against her would be unwise."

"And I will remind you, Warden, that I do not appreciate threats, wearing veils or otherwise," she ground out, back rigid with anger.

Loghain snickered. _That_ snicker. She found she was gritting her teeth. "What?" she finally growled.

"Veiled threats," he corrected and made no attempt to hide his amusement.

"Is that not what I said? And do not change the subject," she hissed in frustration.

"Leonie, let Anora's men handle this. They are more likely to get information from Metterly than you are," Loghain said, his voice gently chiding. "I'll be there to represent your interests in the matter," he added, moving to the door.

"Unless you don't trust me?" he added coolly.

There was a temptation, when he treated her thus, to hurl breakable objects at his head. He was cool and implacable and logical and it made her teeth ache. Of course she trusted him, could he say the same of her? She doubted it.

"As you wish, _Commander_ Loghain," she responded sarcastically and moved stiffly to his side. Loghain leaned down, his smirk devastatingly effective as she found herself smiling in return.

"And since I have graciously conceded, I would ask that you go with me to the Alienage this afternoon," she said after he had kissed her. He moved back a step. Leonie sighed. A very long day, she thought as his face closed again, all grim lines and shadowed angles.

"I would prefer not to," he said curtly.

"But I would like your opinion on possible recruits," she replied firmly.

"No," he replied implacably.

Leonie frowned, feeling the tide of anger, so recently ebbing, begin to flow again. What was the matter with him? Surely he wasn't one of those who thought elves fit only for servants? He stood before her, stiff and unrelenting. She suddenly remembered Alistair's accusation that Loghain had sold Fereldans into slavery during his regency and her face must have registered something because Loghain gave a bitter snort.

"You will meet with far less resistance in your recruiting efforts if I am not there," he said with a scowl.

Leonie reached out to smooth the scowl. "Perhaps, or perhaps you should consider showing them you are no longer that man," she responded softly, moving her hand to cup his cheek.

"Am I not?" he growled. "You think somehow I have changed that much, do you?"

"Only you know if that is so, my love. I cannot answer as I did not know you then. I do, however, know who you are now," she replied quietly. He leaned into her touch for a moment, his face pale and tense.

Once again Leonie realized how much the trip to Denerim had taken out of both of them. She would not force him to visit the Alienage with her, no matter how wrong she thought he was in not going with her and facing the lingering demons that caused him so much pain.

"I shall not force the issue since it appears I have absolutely no sway as the Warden Commander of the Grey of Ferelden or the Arlessa of Amaranthine," she finally replied dryly.

"Loghain," she added as he moved to the door. "You will be wise to travel with guards today as well."

He raised a brow. "Is that an order?" he asked coolly. She wondered if the heavy vase full of fall flowers would break with enough force to give her some satisfaction.

"It hardly matters if it is an order since you are an insubordinate Second on your best day. And let me assure you, Mac Tir, today is not that day," she responded crossly.

He came to her and it was his turn to cup her cheek softly. "We'll be lucky to make it through this long day without ripping the other to shreds," he said, voicing her own thoughts and it was her turn to lean into his touch.

"But if it is that important to you, I'll travel with two guards," he added and with another light caress he was gone.

Gills and Tranace tried to keep up with her a short time later as she made her way, with several wrong turns, to the royal stables. Bendis was already saddled as were two other horses, complete with riders.

"I'm Ablett and this is Winslow," one of the heavily armored men said. He was tall, sitting straight in his saddle and though she could see little of him behind his helm, she did notice amber eyes and a short, upturned nose. His smile was crooked and he had the confidence of a man who enjoyed his job.

"Good morning Ablett, Winslow. We are off to the Warden's warehouse in the market district. I will assume you know where that is?"

"Aye Warden Commander," Winslow spoke. His voice, much deeper than Ablett's, was sonorous and self assured. She saw only a pair of very intelligent grey eyes before she pulled herself into her saddle.

"Good, then shall we be off. Poor Gills and Tranace need a few hours respite," she said with a kind smile for her guards.

Leonie rode between the two men, glad for her fur lined cloak. The wind was a bitter sting against her cheeks and the sun was refusing to remain out, continually hiding in the gathering clouds. This afternoon's dedication ceremony would be cold and wet, she thought and that thought made her unaccountably sad. Poor Duncan would hate the ceremony and even more, he would hate the cold, wet weather. Before she became too immersed in unhappy thoughts, she heard her name being called.

"Teagan! I did not expect to see you," she said, finding and offering a smile to the handsome rider who was pulling up beside her. Ablett and Winslow dropped back a pace once they determined Teagan posed no threat.

"In truth, my lady, I was looking for you," he replied with a charming smile that served to broaden her own.

"Indeed? I am flattered."

"And lovely," he replied and then dropped his voice. "I have come on unhappy business, Leonie."

She reined in Bendis and slipped out of the saddle, landing lightly on her feet. Teagan followed her lead and they walked their horses, heads bent close. Ablett and Winslow dismounted and shadowed them only a few paces behind Leonie and Teagan.

"What is this unhappy business?" she asked in a hushed voice as they continued on foot. She found her muscles were tensing and it caused Bendis to nicker and nudge her as if to chastise her for holding the reins too tightly.

"My brother is planning on visiting the Vigil to speak to Alistair. I tried to dissuade him and while many consider me persuasive, my brother is immune to my charms," Teagan warned quietly. He leaned closer. "Don't allow him access to Alistair. He will only try to use him."

Leonie blinked, surprised by not only his words but the meaning behind them. "He wants Alistair to challenge Queen Anora's rule?" she whispered in dismay.

"I would not doubt it, my lady. He is a royalist who believes only a Theirin deserves to be on the throne. I can't go into details, this is hardly the time or place for such talk," Teagan answered and his breath was warm on her skin as he bent his head close to hers. "But he holds great sway with the nobles, including the two teyrns.

"Thank you, Teagan," Leonie replied warmly.

"And now, as much as I would love to continue in such beautiful company, I'm afraid I have a meeting with the queen," he said and took her hand in his, squeezing it reassuringly. "Stay safe, my friend," he urged and dropped a soft kiss along her gloved knuckles.

"Be well, Teagan," she replied, watching him mount and ride back the way he had come.

An odd and unsettling morning continued as she entered the warehouse. She inventoried the remaining items in it quickly. A surprising amount of dust and little of any value greeted her as she entered the warehouse. Most of the items had been sent to the Vigil by Kristoff when he had first arrived. The vault contained only two small vials of darkspawn blood and an amulet. She recognized it as the type used by the Ferelden Wardens to commemorate a successful Joining. She slipped the blood and amulet into her small pack and then sat on the floor for long minutes, letting her thoughts settle.

Duncan seemed an almost physical presence here. She recalled his relief and shock when Loghain had finally consented to more than just the Warden compound on the palace grounds and that led her thoughts on an unhappy journey to her discussions with Duncan on the Warden outposts during their voyage from Jader to Val Royeaux. She remembered it with startling clarity. His voice seemed to echo in her head, in the empty warehouse itself, as she sat on the dusty floor…

_"Do you think that King Maric would allow supply depots in Lothering, Goldenvale and possibly Redcliffe?"_

_Duncan shook his head, thoughtful. "He would but Loghain would never stand for it."_

_Leonie frowned, glancing again at the map. "Is his hatred so unreasonable then?"_

_"Unreasonable is a good word for it. His hatred is deep. I doubt anything will ever change it."_

_Leonie sat back on her heels. She understood hatred, she did not understand blind and willful ignorance. Loghain was putting his nation at risk. How could he not see that? "Does he think all Grey Wardens are Orlesian spies?" she asked finally, still frowning._

_"He thinks all Grey Wardens are dangerous and seditious. His hatred has made him paranoid about anyone not of Ferelden blood..." _

She blinked several times, surprised to find tears on her cheeks and she dashed them away. Leonie wondered if Duncan was sharing a laugh with Riordan at the absurd irony of her position now. Not only was Loghain a Warden, he had actually agreed with her on where the outposts should be located. Amazing what a Blight could do in changing a man's position, she thought with grim humor. She gazed down at her ring, once more hoping that Duncan understood her heart's capriciousness in falling in love with Loghain.

A shadow fell across her field of vision and she looked up to find Loghain standing there, gloves in hand, looking uncharacteristically hesitant. She blinked again, surprised to see him and then gave him a watery smile.

"Your meeting with Metterly was short," she said by way of greeting as he moved to her and offered his hand. She took it and squeezed lightly, reassuringly and he helped her off the dusty floor.

"Shorter than you realize," he agreed, leaning forward and brushing at the dust on her face.

"Oh? Why is that?" Leonie asked but a premonition curled along her spine with icy fingers. "He did not survive the night at Fort Drakon, did he?"

Loghain shook his head, his look as chilly as the day. "I have spoken to the Captain of the Guard who is currently seeking new employment," he responded with cold disdain.

"Are you done here?" he asked and to his credit, he tried to soften his voice, to add warmth to it but it still made Leonie shiver. She could only imagine that the Captain of the Guard at Fort Drakon was adrift in a blizzard even now.

"Yes," she said and walked to the door with him, turning once to survey the room. _Good-bye, my beloved Rivaini pirate_.

She closed and locked the door behind her and gave Loghain the key. At his raised eyebrow, she gave him a wan smile. "I have no need to return to this place," she answered his unspoken question and then she slipped her gloves on and went to Bendis, who seemed unhappy to have been left alone.

They rode back to the palace in silence as the clouds continued to build, the wind plucking at her cloak and reddening her cheeks. Even in the cold the rebuilding of the city continued. In almost every district they road through on their way back to the palace she could hear the sounds of hammer striking wood and men hard at work. It would take some time to remove the vestiges of the Blight but to Anora's credit the reconstruction was coming along very quickly. Leonie, having seen the devastation in the Anderfels and the Silent Plains, doubted anyone in Ferelden understood just how lucky they were to have survived so short a Blight.

* * *

The meeting started out with a warm exchange of pleasantries and then went steadily downhill, in Leonie's estimation. They were currently discussing security issues and her frustration was slowly mounting.

"I do not think such a thing is necessary, your Majesty," Leonie protested firmly. She glanced over at Loghain for support. He gave her a level stare and shook his head as if to tell her she would not win an argument with Anora Mac Tir Theirin.

"Regardless, Warden Commander, I insist."

"You understand that Loghain helped slay the Archdemon and I have no inconsiderable skill with a sword," Leonie continued, despite Loghain's silent warning.

The three of them were gathered in Queen Anora's strategy room discussing Warden issues. Leonie had always believed that Loghain was the most stubborn person she had ever met but she was changing that assessment in light of the queen's dogged insistence on guards accompanying Leonie everywhere she went.

"I assure you, I have great faith in your abilities but until we know whether more than just Metterly were in involved in last night's incident I will not take the risk," Anora replied firmly and Leonie finally conceded the point.

Erlina, silent and watchful as she stood in by the door, flashed a brief, almost sympathetic smile at Leonie and it was then that Leonie knew why her face was so familiar. The empress's personal dresser was a young elf with dark almond shaped eyes and dark hair. Evangelina, if Leonie remembered correctly. They had the same air of quiet competence and wary vigilance. They could almost be sisters. They probably _were_ sisters. Leonie hoped to have time to discuss her realization with Erlina. She made a mental note to write to Celene regarding Erlina as well.

"Now, about this next item," Anora continued with quiet authority. "Do you really see the need for fifty Wardens?"

"Yes, your Majesty," Leonie began, matching the queen's quiet authority with her own. This was her expertise and she felt confident. "It is my experience that anything less is irresponsible should another Blight arise."

Loghain made a disbelieving sound in his throat. "Isn't that a bit paranoid? We just quelled a Blight," he said and it was an argument they had already had so he knew how she felt. She took a deep mental breath.

"_Warden _Loghain, I will remind you that a Blight is not a predictable event," Leonie began, not entirely successful in hiding her irritation. At the moment she felt besieged by father and daughter. "That you quelled this Blight so quickly is, of course, commendable, but there are still thousands of darkspawn that survive it and they are now underground. Additionally, we have no idea if any of the sentient darkspawn survived."

Nor, she thought grimly, did they know what her blood might cause her to become or who might still be in search of it. If she had her way, she would ask for no less than one hundred Ferelden Wardens but she had compromised with Loghain, a point he seemed to have forgotten. She locked eyes with Loghain, silently reminding him of that very thing.

"Is it really necessary to have so many outposts? Wouldn't it be more advantageous to have two large bases of operation?" Anora asked, breaking the charged silence.

"We have found, your Majesty, that having a half dozen well placed Wardens can prevent a great many civilian casualties," Leonie responded politely but firmly. "History has shown that surface attacks continue for years after a Blight."

"I don't know that I will be able to convince the Landsmeet to agree to your suggested tithe," Anora began. Apparently her way of agreeing with Leonie's request, not unlike her father Leonie thought wryly, was just to move on to the next item without ever saying the words. Leonie refocused on Anora.

"I understand, your Majesty. However, it is hardly wise to have just one arling support the Wardens. It would be seen as unfair burden to the people of Amaranthine. I believe Mistress Woolsey's financial report indicates our revenues and our expenses in detail, as well as the projections for our increased number."

"Very true, Warden Commander. I will bring it up in the next Landsmeet. I assume you will be attending?" the queen asked and Leonie nodded succinctly. She would prefer not to but as both the Warden Commander and the representative of Amaranthine, she had little choice.

After an hour of constant back and forth, Leonie was tense and ready for a round in the training yard. Or a hot bath and a glass of brandy. One Mac Tir was a force to be reckoned with, two was overwhelming and draining. Instead she brought up the last item on her list.

"I am not sure if you are aware of the recent difficulties between Nevarra and Orlais, Queen Anora, but I feel I should mention there may be Warden involvement," she began and then fell silent. This went against her very nature, to discuss Wardens in such a manner. Before she could gather her thoughts and continue Anora began to speak.

"Thank you, Warden Commander. I am aware of the threat of war between those nations as well as the recent visit at the Vigil."

"There is a possibility, you Majesty, that my blood could become an issue in this war. If, at any time, I feel my being here poses a threat to Ferelden, I will leave," Leonie said quietly. Loghain shifted and leaned forward, an argument already forming on his lips.

"I'm sure that won't be necessary, Warden Commander," Anora said quietly and followed it with a warm smile. "Father told me a bit of your past and it seems that you aren't quite an ordinary Warden but I don't doubt that you'll solve the mystery," she continued and Leonie tried very hard not to gape at Anora or glare at Loghain.

"Did he indeed?" Leonie said with a restraint that seemed more wish than reality.

"You did instruct me to debrief the queen," Loghain said quietly and Leonie gave him what she hoped was a withering stare.

"We shall discuss this later, Warden," Leonie warned quietly, aware of Anora's watchful gaze on them.

"If there is nothing more, I suggest we eat before we depart for the ceremony," Anora finally said, rising with a stately grace. Leonie quickly got to her feet and dropped a curtsy before excusing herself and quitting the room.

"Do you not trust me at all?" she asked as soon as she and Loghain entered their rooms. She was busy unbuckling her leathers, her fingers made clumsy by her sudden, sharp anger and hurt. It was the hurt that lent the sharpness to her anger.

"We have had this discussion before," she continued and whirled to face him. "But I will remind you, Loghain Mac Tir, you are a Grey Warden and your duties and loyalties are with them now. Should you interfere with, or become embroiled in, the politics of Ferelden, you will be sent to Orlais and I will not be able to tear your orders up. Do you understand that?"

Loghain stepped close to her, his voice and expression iced heat. "I understand that we have also discussed whether I trust you and it seems, madam, that you are the one lacking in trust," he growled coldly.

"You spoke to your daughter, the Queen of Ferelden, about my blood," she hissed, breaking a nail and the leather binding on her boot as she struggled to take it off.

"You think I told her everything about it, no doubt," he sneered.

"I do not know what you told her, Loghain. I was not privy to the conversation. I do recall a conversation you and I had about what was safe to tell her and what was not," she shot back and tossed the boot at her armor stand with little grace and even less accuracy. "My blood and its mysteries was not a part of that conversation."

"She has the right to know what kind of danger you represent to her nation," Loghain said with an inflexibility that made it nearly impossible for Leonie not to hurl her other boot at his head.

"I understand her need to know, Loghain. Did you not trust me to tell her in my own words?" she replied tartly as she instead chucked the boot after the first one. It landed nowhere near its mate.

"Why are you really so angry?" he asked finally, his voice still cold and intransigent.

Why? Leonie huffed and began to speak and then fell silent. She was hurt, not angry. And tired. And heartsick. She blinked at him, realized he was probably feeling much the same. Her anger, traitor that it was, went to join her boot.

She padded over to him. "I am hurt because you did not trust that I would tell her myself," she explained. Maker, could they just leave Denerim before they wound up permanently hurting each other? She sighed.

Loghain grunted at that. "You still trust me so little?" he asked and she blinked at him in surprise.

"I believe we are discussing your lack of trust in me," she replied bluntly.

"They are related," he growled and she saw that he too was hurt.

"Yes, of course they are," she admitted ruefully. "Perhaps…" she began but was interrupted by a pair of lips that were much warmer than she had expected them to be.

"I think we can both agree that we need to discuss this at a later time," she said finally.

"As you wish, Commander," he responded against the crown of her hair.

"Let us just get through this interminably long day," she added softly.

Snow, heavy and wet, began to fall as they rode in the procession to the Memorial Gardens. Her thoughts immediately took her to Jader and Riordan. She felt his presence, his reassuring laugh sitting on her shoulders just as the snow began to collect there. It seemed perfect, somehow, that is should snow and her heart let go of another burden. She turned her face upward, smiling her thanks.

There was still the ceremony to get through, her meeting at the Alienage, a host of problems that were becoming more and more political in nature, but here, riding in the first snow of the season, she felt the joy of youth come to her and she embraced it, embraced the hope that came with it.

The lark, it seemed, had been singing for her after all.


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N: **_This chapter touches on rape and while it is not detailed, it might be uncomfortable for some.  
My continued thanks and appreciation to all of you who lurk, add to your favorites, review and encourage me. _

**Casualties of War**

Loghain's gaze was focused resolutely on the stone before him. He was so stiff and silent he might have been carved of the same granite as the memorial stone. Leonie realized as she surreptitiously eyed him that the dedication ceremony was not darkening his mood, it was being in the Memorial Gardens. So many of those he cared about were memorialized in the garden and Leonie suspected he viewed every one of those stones as not only a personal loss but a personal failure as well. There was little Leonie could do about it as they stood listening to Queen Anora's remarks, but her heart ached for him. He would continue to become more distant as he brooded on those losses and perceived failures.

She was surprised by the number of people who had come to the ceremony considering the falling snow was rapidly turning into a blizzard. Nobles and commoners stood in respectful silence, made more profound by the steady accumulation of snow that deadened the normal city sounds. The wind was sharper and it was almost painful to breathe the cold air.

Teagan, standing with a group of young nobles, bowed slightly in her direction. She nodded slightly in return. Few others acknowledged her and she more grateful than offended.

Of course it was impossible not to hear the whispers afterwards as people came to touch the new stone or offer words of support and comfort. She was sure many of the remarks were meant for her ears and she tried to keep her expression carefully neutral. She lost count of the number of times she heard the words _Orlesian whore _or _Orlesian bitch. _Teagan gave her hand an encouraging squeeze when he bent over it after the ceremony.

When only Ablett and Winslow remained behind, Leonie removed her gauntlets and dug in her small pack for the amulet she had discovered in the vault. She knelt and brushed the snow off the stone before laying the amulet on it. She traced Duncan's name with a finger and then moved to Riordan's name. "In death, sacrifice."

The trip to the Alienage had been postponed until the morning and Leonie was grateful. She was exhausted, both physically and mentally, wanting nothing more than a hot bath and a good night's sleep. Ablett and Winslow led her home through the dark, snowy streets. An eerie hush softened every sound and Leonie was content not to disturb it. Soon enough she would be back at the palace and she and Loghain would either have a loud argument or the silence between them would be as cold and deep as the blanket of snow now covering the ground.

Gills and Tranace met her at the stables and as they escorted her back to her quarters. The snow continued to fall and the wind was now a snarling, howling beast. Their return to the Vigil might have to be delayed. Leonie was used to the crisp light snow that fell in Orlais and this snow, heavy and wet and thick, would prove difficult to travel in. The thought of delaying their trip home served to further dampen her already flagging spirits.

Loghain was sitting by the fire when she entered, staring into the fire. She greeted him quietly and he grunted an acknowledgement without looking at her. So, they were to have a cold silence, she thought sadly, making her way to her bedchamber. They should be drawing strength from each other, they should be coming together to seek and give succor. But that wasn't Loghain's way and it was almost a relief to Leonie which only served to deepen her sadness. Where, she thought wryly, was that lark when she needed his song to cheer her?

After a bath, she dressed in a woolen tunic and leggings, pulling on thick socks. Even with a fire roaring in the fireplace she was cold. It seemed to have seeped into her marrow. She stared at the closed door and started to move to it, to go to Loghain and try to bridge the growing chasm between them but her pride held her in check. Instead, she pulled a chair close to her fire and curled up in it, letting her mind float along without clear intent on its direction. Her thoughts were a quagmire tonight and she hadn't the will to sort through them all.

A knock at the private entrance to her room startled her out of her moody contemplation of nothing and she opened her door to find Erlina standing there, wrapped in a heavy shawl and shivering. Surprised to see the young Orlesian bard at her door, she waved her in and moved back to the fire. Erlina joined her.

"My mistress invites you to a private supper this evening," Erlina began, bending slightly to warm her hands against the blaze.

"I am not sure I would be the best of company," Leonie admitted unhappily.

"Queen Anora heard the whispers today, my lady. She is most concerned for you," Erlina said in a sympathetic voice.

"It is nothing I have not heard before, Erlina, but thank her majesty for her concern, if you will," Leonie assured but the whispers had hurt, had served to illustrate with painful clarity that she would always be an outsider in Ferelden. She would start crying if she continued down that road.

"At least in Orlesian the words _sound_ kinder," she added, in an attempt at humor. "_Vous salope_," she demonstrated and Erlina gave her a pitying look.

"You are too sad to be alone tonight. Does Loghain not keep you company?" Erlina asked, eyeing the closed door.

"Loghain keeps his own company tonight, Erlina. As is best, I think. We would not want him to sully himself by being in the company of _la salope du Orlais_, yes?" Leonie responded, her voice surprising her in its bitterness.

"Oh no, no, Commander Leonie," Erlina protested sharply. "This is not good to dwell on, these people who say such things are…" Erlina broke off as the door slammed open, banging into the wall. Loghain stood on the threshold, expression livid.

"Get out," he ordered Erlina coldly. Erlina's gaze shifted between Loghain and Leonie. Leonie stood and nodded slightly to the woman.

"I am not in the mood for this, Loghain. I have been called a whore and a bitch all day and I am not in the mood for your ill temper," Leonie warned, her anger jumping to life.

"And you are no doubt blaming me for not coming to your rescue," he snarled spitefully.

"I did not say anything of the kind," she snapped back. "I do not expect you to defend me. I do not need you to defend me," she added. "And what I do need from you, you seem unable to give me," she concluded, affixing him with glare.

Loghain crossed his arms, eyebrow quirked.

"_Ill n'est pas un viol si la femme est une putain,_" he said with a sudden savagery that caught at the edges of Leonie's calm.

As the color drained from Leonie's face, her fear bloomed, a twisted vine that sent out tendrils through her blood, sucked the moisture from her mouth. He was a deadly stranger in the shadows cast by the fire and she instinctively stepped back.

"You're Orlesian. Tell me what that means," he said in the same brutal, mocking voice.

"It isn't rape if the woman is a whore," she translated, horrified. Where had he heard such a phrase? In what context? Her mind was scrambling for answers, to try and make sense of what Loghain was talking about even as her fear and an underlying anger grew.

"He said that to her as he raped her," he continued, moving closer.

"Loghain, I do not understand," she began and the fear she felt was in her voice, made her words quiver. A log popped in the fireplace and she jerked, her breath coming out in a gasp.

"Who? Who said this?" she asked, afraid to touch him, to offer him comfort as dread seeped in to cool her blood.

"Your countryman," he started and then stopped. He rubbed a hand wearily over his face. "Your chevalier," he muttered, words coated with venom and anguish.

"I – he is not my countryman," she replied quietly. "I do not understand who you mean."

"Orlesian bastard," he continued, ignoring her. Leonie was not entirely sure he was even aware of her at that moment, so locked in his pain he seemed unaware of anything else.

Leonie found she was gripping her arms so tightly with her fingers that she had drawn blood, could feel the sting of nails breaking skin. "I do not understand," she repeated, fighting her need to flee, to find safety. And her anger began to flow back into her.

"You want to know why I don't trust Orlesians and that's why," he said fiercely, coming to loom over her, his voice a cold and bitter reflection of the blizzard outside her window.

Leonie stared at him, trying to understand what he was telling her. The chevalier had raped someone he cared about. Rowan? His wife Celia? Who? Did she even want to know?

"Who did he say this to?" she asked in a hoarse whisper.

He stared at her, nearly unrecognizable in his pain. His face was dark, color riding high along his cheekbones, mouth twisted, the look in his eyes reminiscent of Montran. She began to tremble as he continued to bridge the distance between them. She moved and he mirrored it. She found herself scuttling backwards, away from his menacing figure, heart racing as it climbed into her throat.

"Loghain, you are frightening me," she said sharply.

"He killed her when he was through with her, just slit her throat like she was an animal," he hissed. He was walking in a painful memory and it was driving his every move, his thoughts, his emotions. She had never seen him so vulnerable and raw, he was half mad with it. What had provoked it? Had she done so when she spoke Orlesian to Erlina? Her fear began to ebb, replaced by sorrow and compassion. His pain was so intense it was a living creature eating at his soul.

"I am sorry," she began but, with the speed and accuracy of a snake striking at its prey, his hands whipped out and grasped her arms, shaking her. His grasp was an iron shackle.

"Warden Loghain, unhand me!" she demanded, trying to keep her voice cold and commanding. Fear was rising again and she tamped it down. Fear would be her undoing if she allowed it. His hands dropped to his side. Her anger began to finally return and she grabbed at it with both hands.

"You either tell me what you mean or get out of my room," she hissed at him. He was silent, pacing the room before coming to stand in front of her again.

"Tell me," she implored, refusing to acknowledge the pain in her arms or the fear in her heart.

He shook his head as if to shake off the unwanted memories and the pain seemed to radiate from him. "My mother," he said simply, his voice cold and stark.

Leonie's fear died when he spoke those words and the picture formed in Leonie's mind. He had witnessed his mother being raped by an Orlesian and then murdered. Was that what he was telling her? She wanted to reach out and take him in her arms, to comfort him, but she held herself away, tried to give them both some distance.

"And for what?" he asked, staring at her as if she held the answer. She shook her head. Who knew why some men behaved that way? What drove such men to such brutality that they couldn't really even be called human?

He turned away and went back to his room. Leonie rubbed her arms and debated what course to take. Did she poke the wounded bear or did she hope he mended on his own? She reflected bitterly that it mattered little which course she took, it was sure to be the wrong one.

He was slumped in his chair again, feet stretched to the fire, eyes closed. Leonie wondered, as she stood in the doorway, if they were destined to continue the dance for the rest of their lives? If for every step forward there would be so many steps back? Or perhaps it was that they would never learn their partner's own unique dance steps. Would they continue to lash out at each other until nothing remained but hate and mistrust?

Without touching him, Leonie came and sat down on the floor between his chair and the fire, her back to him. She pulled her legs up and wrapped her arms around her knees, staring into the flames. Neither spoke for some time and Leonie wasn't sure what she could say that would alleviate his pain. She rested her chin on her knees and closed her eyes, letting the warmth of the fire seep into her.

"I think perhaps you may never learn to trust me," she began slowly. "I do not fault you for it, given what I think I now understand about your past," she added. Tears leaked quietly from her closed lids to drip languidly down her cheeks.

Loghain remained silent and she was thankful for that. "I shall not be returning to the Keep with you tomorrow. I shall travel on to Kinloch Hold and find this Jarren Tabris. I am sure Queen Anora can spare a few men to travel with me," she added hastily as she heard his hiss of disapproval.

"I am not asking you for permission to do this, Loghain. I am telling you and for once I ask that you do not argue," she added firmly.

"And if I disagree?" he asked quietly.

"You are free to disagree but you will not dissuade me. We spend too much time trying to navigate this toxic relationship and not enough on the duties entrusted to us. It is time that changed," Leonie replied with more resolve than she felt.

Loghain didn't respond and she let her mind focus on what needed to be done. The list grew with each breath she took. She felt Loghain's hand, as light as thistledown, come to rest on her shoulder.

"Teagan warned me that Eamon wishes to seek out Alistair now that Eamon knows he is at the Keep. Do not allow it. I will warn Queen Anora as well, though I am sure she is already aware of it.

"I want Alistair and Sigrun to go to Soldier's Peak. Have Anders give them a vial of Svanar's blood and a vial of my blood. Tell them not to let Avernus know whose blood it is. Let him begin to study it. Perhaps he can find answers. Tell them they are not to linger there. A messenger can relay any news.

"I will send Hahren Valendrian a note and have him choose the three most suitable Grey Warden recruits and send them here tomorrow morning. They can ride back to the Vigil in the supply wagon. Test them. If you think they truly are suitable, put them through their Joining.

"Continue with the training and the repairs to the Keep. There are additional funds in the vault in my office. Varel has the key to it. Mistress Woolsey is not aware of these funds.

"I should be returning to the Keep within three weeks if fate smiles upon me," she finished and stood up. Her knees were shaky and she felt emotionally drained.

Loghain stood as well. She reached up and gently brushed the hair back from his forehead, saw the sadness and regret that lingered in his eyes, knew her own expression mirrored his. "I am Orlesian, Loghain, it is true, but I am not the Orlesian who killed your mother; nor am I the woman who betrayed your king and army at West Hills. Until you can look at me and believe that, I cannot help you to heal."

Loghain closed his eyes and then bent, resting his forehead against hers. "I know that," he said gruffly. His breath feathered along her cheeks as he spoke.

"You know it at _this moment_. That is not always the case," she said softly.

He leaned back to meet her eyes, his own holding a challenge. "You want me to be someone I'm not, Leonie. I'm not Duncan," he said roughly.

"Not this again? You really still believe that I want you to be like Duncan?" she asked, shocked that he still believed that. She gave an unhappy laugh. "You think because I am tired of fighting that I want you to be like Duncan? Do you think he and I never argued? Or is it that you wish I was someone else? Perhaps that is something else you should consider while I am gone," she added, moving away from him.

They were both casualties of a war that had been over for thirty years and she wondered, as she made her way to seek an audience with the queen, if there really was any hope for them, or if the wounds were just too deep.

Hours later, after her letters had been written, after her audience with a very surprised and curious queen, Leonie crawled into bed and tried to close her mind and heart. She had not spoken to Loghain again. She wasn't sure what she could say to him that had not been said time and time again.

In the hours close to dawn, when sleep was a distant visitor, her door opened and Loghain came in. She propped herself up on an elbow and watched as he made his way to the bed.

"Queen Anora assures me that her agents continue to search for any of Metterly's co-conspirators," she said to break the silence.

"That's not why I'm here," he replied dryly. He sat down on the edge of the bed, his back to her. "I can't say I like your decision but I understand why you made it."

"I am entrusting you with those I hold dear, Loghain," she began and then stopped, unable to continue for a minute.

"I love you, Loghain. I do not know what more I can say," Leonie responded quietly.

"There is a road leading across the Bannorn that will cut several days from your trip," he said. "I've marked it on a map. Ablett knows of it."

"Ah. Thank you."

Silence, softly muted by the snow, settled in the room again and Leonie lowered her head back onto her pillow as she waited for him to tell her the reason for his visit.

"You are welcome to get under the blankets and get warm," she offered finally and pulled the covers back in invitation.

When he had settled himself beside her he told her, in words that were harsh and bitter, about a young man who had witnessed the rape and subsequent murder of his mother at the brutal hands of an Orlesian commander. His voice did not falter and he was unflinching in his details. Leonie found her cheeks wet with tears as she listened, her heart breaking for his pain and loss, unable to find any words to help ease the terrible burden of guilt and grief he still carried.

When he finished, he lay still as they held on to each other. Long after his ragged breathing settled into the deep sonorous notes that told Leonie he had fallen asleep, she lay awake.

It seemed unlikely that he would ever be able to see her as more than an Orlesian now that she understood how deeply he had been wounded. And in knowing that, she could not fault him for what he had said and done in the past. Yet neither could she allow him to constantly disobey her orders, to continue to fight with him over every little thing. It was destroying them both and the love they shared would become nothing but ashes and dust if they didn't find a way to move forward.

In the morning, she left before he woke up. She stood at the door for a long moment, taking in his peaceful expression as he slept, etching it into her mind and heart. And then she turned, while she still had enough resolve to do so, and moved resolutely out into the cold, snowy morning.

Time would tell if they would continue to be casualties of war.

**A/N**: _Ok, enough angst for now. The next few chapters will be split PoV's as Leonie and Loghain go about their Warden duties apart from each other. Maybe when they get back together they'll realize what they have and not what they don't have. _


	17. Chapter 17

**Reunion **

"Good morning, Father," Anora greeted him somewhat distantly as she entered his rooms. She looked unhappy and ready for an argument.

Loghain was not. He was busy planning his trip back to the Vigil without Leonie. He already felt her absence but he had to acknowledge, however reluctantly, that she was right. They were both in need of perspective. Still, he would have liked to see her off.

"Anora," Loghain replied dryly. "Have you come to give me a scolding?" he snorted, sitting back down to his breakfast.

Anora's brow shot up as she sat down across from him. "Do you feel the need for a scolding?" she asked in amusement.

Loghain scowled. He didn't feel the need for a scolding but it was apparent his daughter thought otherwise. He wondered what she and Leonie had discussed the previous night and then quickly decided that he didn't really want to know.

"I do not," he replied seriously, refusing to rise to the bait.

"How interesting. Your Warden Commander was sure you would say that," she said smugly. "She seems to know you very well."

"Children are overrated," he remarked, biting into his scone to hide his smirk.

Anora leaned forward, her good humor dropping away and Loghain felt his smirk doing the same. "What is it?" he asked.

"This news of Eamon is troubling. Alistair did not renounce his claim to the throne before he ran out of the Landsmeet," Anora said and Loghain felt a stir of disquiet.

"Talk to him, Father. Have him sign an Oath of Fealty and a Declaration of Renouncement. We also need to keep Eamon away from him. Alistair is far too biddable for his own good."

Loghain's scowl returned and he shook his head. "The boy's a Grey Warden. His oath lies with them," he began. "As to the Declaration of Renouncement, have it drawn up and I'll see that he gets it."

Anora relaxed at his words. Loghain didn't tell her that he was not about to ask that young whelp for anything but he was sure Varel would see to it. "Did you mention this to the Warden Commander?"

"We were discussing other things. She is a very persuasive, determined woman, isn't she?" Anora said and there was a smile playing on her lips. Somehow he felt he was missing some vital clue she had given him but he ignored that in favor of a large helping of porridge. Women, he had long ago learned, were the true keeper of secrets, for all that men believed themselves to be.

"You mistake stubbornness for determination," he said, reaching for another scone.

"Ha! As if that hasn't been said about you more than a time or two," Anora teased fondly, reaching for the teapot and pouring them both a cup of tea.

"Apples rarely fall far from the tree," he noted sourly. "You are apparently such an apple," he added.

"I sent Ablett, Winslow and Travis with her, Father. She is in safe hands," Anora said seriously. "Although she didn't say why she changed her plans so precipitously," she added, giving him a pensive stare out of expressive blue eyes.

"Stop looking at me in that manner. It didn't work when you were a child. It certainly won't work now," he ordered.

Before more could be said, the elves from the Alienage arrived, along with Valendrian, who was not happy about leaving his charges in Loghain's company. Anora excused herself quietly as Loghain and Valendrian discussed the three prospective Wardens.

Two men and a woman stood beside their hahren. Loghain cast an appraising glance at each one. The woman, Karlin Tabris, was thin and wiry and looked almost feral with her golden brown eyes and golden brown hair. She wore a poorly made cloak over old leathers, but she wore them with a proud dignity that Loghain found reassuring. She would be a scrapper.

"Are you related to a mage named Tabris?" he asked her as he studied her.

"I am. He's a cousin. Haven't seen him since your kind yanked him out of the Alienage and threw him in the mage tower," she replied with a cold dignity.

"By my kind you mean the templars," he replied with a matching coolness.

She did not respond. It could prove to be a very long trip back to the Keep if they were all so cold and prickly, Loghain reflected, moving to stand before one of the men.

A tumble of surprisingly red hair fell across pale green eyes that were wide and assessing as they met Loghain's. Irmas Durahn had a bow slung over a shoulder, worn but highly polished. He returned Loghain's measuring look with an insolent grin.

"Warden Loghain," the young elf greeted. He gave Loghain a mocking salute and Loghain found himself gnashing his teeth, silently cursing Leonie for leaving this trio in his hands.

The third man was quiet and watchful, hands always hovering near his matching daggers. Of the three, he looked to be the oldest and the best dressed. His face wore a tattoo that Loghain thought might be of Dalish origin. Wary grey eyes met Loghain's. "Darius Mahariel," the elf said quietly.

"Yes, I'm Dalish. I chose to stay with my city brothers after the Blight," he said at Loghain's questioning look. Yes, a long trip back to the Keep indeed.

Loghain had heard of city elves running off to join their Dalish counterparts but never the other way around. There was obviously more to the story but he had neither the time nor the inclination to discover what that story was at the moment.

"I'll warn you, there is no going back. If you have any doubts, step back now. No one will think the less of you," Loghain instructed. He waited and watched as the three stood silently in place.

"Good. Grab your gear and follow Tranace to the stables. We'll be leaving within the hour," Loghain ordered and watched them as they left.

An hour later, he was standing once again with his daughter. "I want you to consider Fergus," he began but Anora laughed, protesting.

"We have had this discussion, Father. I believe you know my thoughts on the subject," Anora told him and reached up to kiss his cheek lovingly. Loghain held her in a brief hug, his pride and affection for her welling up in him.

"Keep me informed on the Metterly matter," he ordered and with a light kiss on her forehead he turned and walked to the stables.

The elves were all huddled in the supply wagon under a thick bearskin. He would have to purchase some warmer cloaks for the three new recruits, and some new armor and gear. His list of things to do when he reached the Vigil was growing. He blamed Leonie.

"Ser, I'm to give this to you before you leave," Merchisson, the Master of the Horse, said, handing him a letter.

Scowling impatiently, Loghain took the proffered letter and broke the plain seal.

_My Dear Loghain,_

_Stop scowling. You did not really think I would leave without saying goodbye, did you?_

_There is a chest packed full of gifts for the Wardens and others at the Vigil. I ask that you ensure it is placed in my room upon your return. I have the key with me, lest you are tempted to look inside. _

_I could not bring myself to wake you this morning, you looked far too peaceful and, truth be told, I was afraid I would not have the resolve to leave should I do so. Know that my heart travels with you, Loghain. Be safe and keep well._

_Leonie_

Loghain found himself smirking as he refolded the letter and slipped it into his saddlebag.

"Mount!" he called to the soldiers accompanying them.

Without a backward glance, he rode out of the palace grounds. Denerim was soon lost in the gloom of low grey clouds that promised more snow. He wanted to make Kettery Downs along the Pilgrim's Path before sunset.

* * *

Traveling west, the snow was lighter and their progress across the Bannorn improved. Leonie felt her heart lighten as the crisp air reddened her cheeks. They had not traveled far when a thought occurred to Leonie and her heart, already beginning to drop the burdens of Denerim, lightened still further.

"Ablett, will we be traveling close to Hunter Fell?" she asked the young man beside her.

Ablett shook his head. "More than a day off our track, Commander," he explained apologetically.

Leonie's disappointment was surprisingly acute, but she could blame the sudden watering in her eyes on the wind that kept trying to rob her of her breath. She had hoped to spend the night there and visit her mother. She had forgotten how large an area the Bannorn was, but another hope leapt to life almost before the first one had died. "And Goldenvale?"

"Aye, Commander. That's not but an hour off the road. We can be there around sunset, if we keep up this pace," Ablett agreed cheerfully.

"Then we shall feast with Bann Renfrew tonight," Leonie said and found her mood continuing to climb. "I have it on good authority he sets a hearty table," she added with a laugh.

"And he won't mind our popping in without a proper warning?" Travis asked, coming to ride on Leonie's left.

He was a rotund man with a florid complexion and a disconcerting pair of mismatched eyes, one was as green as polished jade and the other as blue Lake Celestine in spring. Ablett believed Travis's mother had been a witch of the wild, a chasind apostate. Leonie tried not to laugh at young Ablett's superstitions.

At midday they stopped briefly to stretch their legs and eat a meal of oatcakes and salted fish. The meal only served to increase her impatience to reach her uncle's estate. She considered salted fish a bane, sent from an angry Maker, and she shuddered as she gulped it down. Only a long pull of her waterskin finally brought her shuddering under control.

Ablett was laughing at her reaction to their meal. He was smacking his lips as he devoured his portion. "Grew up in Gwaren, you see. Fish each meal, in each season, no matter the time, no matter the reason," he said, reciting an old nursery rhyme. Leonie felt a sudden stir of pity for Loghain. It certainly explained his scowl, she thought with an amused chuckle.

As they continued riding west, Leonie began to notice more and more tainted and corrupted land. There were large swaths of brown earth, where the snow had melted and where trees that she remembered lush with leaves in the spring, were now twisted, dead husks. Travis clucked at that.

"Blight," he said morosely.

"We call it a Blight thaw," Leonie explained. "You'll need to be on the alert. Often times after a Blight the darkspawn stay above ground and cause these Blight thaws," she warned.

As if the darkspawn were listening to her words, Leonie felt the hot pricking of her blood warning her of a small group ahead, just off the snow covered road. "Lower your visors, men. You do not wish to get splashed in the face with darkspawn blood," she advised as they brought their horses up. Leonie removed her cloak and slid out of the saddle, pulling her sword and dagger out the minute her boots hit the ground.

There were five, all genlocks, and Leonie leapt into battle, reveling in the pull and stretch of her muscles as she swung her sword up and decapitated the nearest genlock before he had time to react. The other genlocks surrounded her, voices puling, and she kicked out at one before plunging her dagger into another. She was biting back her laughter, afraid she would frighten the men traveling with her, but a part of her rejoiced in battling, in doing the one thing she knew she did well, the thing she had trained her entire life to do. Kill darkspawn.

All five darkspawn were down before Ablett or Winslow could draw their weapons, each staring at Leonie with respect and a bit of fear. Travis was busy looting, careful to avoid their darkspawn blood.

"We shall have to burn the bodies, men."

"You've a damned fine sword arm, Commander," Winslow grunted as he began to drag a darkspawn over to the fire she had started.

"It is the taint within me that makes my sword arm strong," she answered with a smile of thanks.

The wind died down as they watched the corpses burning. Travis was warming his hands on the blaze and Leonie tried not to shiver. She knew the queen trusted him but Leonie found him unsettling. He had removed his helmet and his hair was as white as the snow, falling to his shoulders, held back with bits of bird feathers and leather strips.

Making her way to his side, she asked him, "Have you been in her Majesty's service many years, Travis?"

Travis gave her an enigmatic smile and shrug. "Longer than most," he finally answered unhelpfully.

"Have you always been in the Horseguard?" she continued, trying not to sound like an interrogator. She was fairly certain she was failing.

"Not always," he answered.

"Commander, if we're to make Goldenvale before the sun sets, we'd best get to it," Ablett said, coming to stand beside her. She gave Travis another look before nodding.

"Mount up!" she called and they continued along the snow covered road.

The bandits should not have been unexpected. Times were hard after the Blight and civil war and there had been numerous reports of roving gangs of thieves. Winslow grunted in surprise and disgust as an arrow caught him in his left arm, near the shoulder. Travis was down and fighting with a mace and shield, incredibly light on his feet given his build. Ablett was a fury fighter, all loud cries and shouts, swinging his swords with more strength than finesse. Leonie learned quickly to stay out of his way.

Swinging her sword across the bandit's chest with a sweeping strike, she felt the bite of it cut through the leather and into flesh. The bandit's eyes widened and then immediately closed as he fell. Another came charging at her bowling her over and her air rushed out of her with a loud gasp. She dropped her sword but held on to her dagger.

"Bloody Orlesian bitch!" the bandit spat at her as he pinned her arms down. Leonie's anger snapped at that and she bucked, bringing her hips up so quickly and sharply that he sailed over her head. She scrambled up, grabbing her sword and then bent, yanking him up to his feet.

"Have you Fereldans no poetry in your souls? Bitch. Whore. Always it is the same with you. Why not a harlot? A strumpet? A painted woman? " she growled, bringing her fist back and propelling it forward into the bandit's yellowed smile. His head lurched back and then snapped forward as he fell in a heap.

Ablett was laughing as he came to examine the man, who was groaning as he lay in the slushy snow.

"You've quite a hook there, Commander," Ablett said as he hoisted the bandit to his feet.

"Now, how did you know I was Orlesian?" Leonie asked the man with the now ruined face. He spit a tooth out and glared belligerently at her.

"Ablett, tie his hands and then attach him to my saddle. Let us see how long he lasts running beside a galloping horse," Leonie instructed, turning to find Winslow. Travis was already there, breaking off the arrow's shaft midway.

"We'll have to cut it out," he said with a sympathetic clucking noise when Winslow paled at his words.

"I shall do it," Leonie said calmly, withdrawing her boot knife. "We shall need a hot fire, Travis."

Travis reached inside his small hip pack and withdrew a small vial. "No need. This should do it," he said and took out a clean square of linen. Leonie watched, fascinated as he dipped the linen into the vial and then ran it along the knife's edge.

"Pack his arm in ice," Travis said with another odd cluck.

"Tie this around his arm after I remove the arrowhead," he instructed and Leonie nodded silently.

"Do not be too proud to cry out, Winslow," she instructed, taking the cloth and sitting down beside him. Winslow's grey eyes were narrowed, his mouth twisted in a grimace of pain.

"Hey!" Ablett shouted as the bandit staggered several paces and then fell. Winslow grunted as Leonie shifted to see what had happened.

"I am sorry," she murmured and then said nothing more as Travis slid the small bladed knife along the edge of the arrow and into the wound. Leonie's grip on Winslow's arm tightened as he flinched. "A moment more, Winslow," she advised sympathetically.

As soon as Travis had extracted the arrow, Leonie was up and hurrying to Ablett's side. Ablett's face was pale, his amber eyes wide and almost honey colored as they stared up at her. "He just…well he just died," Ablett said, fixing his gaze on the bandit's sightless stare.

Leonie searched the body, recovering a sketch of her. She eyed the sketch critically. "Please tell me that my nose is not that long," she said, before folding it and putting into her hip pack. Ablett frowned at her.

"He must have had a head wound from earlier," she reasoned as she stepped back and patted Ablett's arm. "Do not feel badly, Ablett. You could not have known," she added.

Disappointed that they had no idea who had hired the "bandits" Leonie went back to help Winslow to his feet.

"Best put snow on that fist of yours," Travis said with a clucking chuckle.

Leonie removed her fur lined riding glove and surveyed the damage. She had split open two of her knuckles, probably on the man's teeth. She sighed as she packed some snow around her hand.

The sun was dipping and dancing with the clouds on its trip across the sky, causing them to pass through shadow and light as the riders traveled across the snowy fields of the Bannorn. It would not be long before the sun slipped behind the horizon. The wind was dying down, as if it too were preparing for the approaching night.

"How far are we from Goldenvale?" she asked Ablett.

"An hour, maybe two," Ablett said as they spurred their horses and continued on.

Leonie felt a growing anticipation at the thought of seeing her uncle. She hadn't seen him since her mother's wedding to Roan Gilmore and that seemed like a distant dream. She felt for her ring and the memories that came to her were sweet and gentle, without the searing pain of loss.

The long drive, lined with trees now bare and melancholy in the deepening shadows, pulled her onward and she saw the low, golden building in the fading light. Her heart sped up and she spurred Bendis, galloping along the slushy ground, hoof beats deadened by the lingering snow.

She flung herself off her horse and tossed the reins to a surprised Ablett. "I'm guessing you know this Bann Renfrew well," he teased as Leonie bounded up the stairs and threw the door open.

"Uncle Renfrew!" she called as a very surprised servant tried to stop her. The door to his study was flung open and her uncle, his face wearing a look of shock, came out.

"Lion?" he asked in wonderment, not quite believing his eyes and then he was hurrying forward and she launched herself into his open arms. "Maker be praised! Lion!" he exclaimed with a laugh.

"I am sorry to arrive unannounced, Uncle Renfrew, but I did not now until last night that I would be traveling this way," Leonie began to explain and then heard a voice she hadn't expected to hear at all.

"Oh my sweet girl," Nila Parnell Caron Gilmore gasped in surprise.

"Mama!" Leonie cried out in surprise and promptly burst into tears.


	18. Chapter 18

**Safe Shelter**

Kettery Downs was a bustling trade town on the route between Amaranthine and Denerim. It boasted two inns and Loghain hoped to commandeer one for his disparate group. There was also a decent smith in the city, a former captain of his guard, who would probably have some equipment for the ragamuffins who were traveling in the wagon.

He had tried to avoid the three elves as much as possible, which was easy while he was mounted and impossible when they stopped at midday to eat. The three had eyed him warily, whispered amongst themselves, often just loud enough for him to catch the pertinent parts, and they had kept to themselves. He believed he had been called every insulting name they could come up with, although he knew a few more and when his patience had been exhausted, he had been tempted to share those names with them.

He cursed Leonie, not for the first time that day, for leaving him with three street urchins who seemed intent on glaring him to death. He didn't mind the insults to his character, the colorful names he was being subjected to. He had heard far worse after Ostagar. No, if he was honest, he would admit it was the blows to his vanity that he found angered and offended him the most. Apparently they thought him too old and worn out to be of much use to Leonie and he wasn't about to get into an argument with them to the contrary. But he found he had developed a headache from clenching his jaws.

They rode into Kettery Downs just as the sun finally broke through the clouds, a fiery orange ball that was falling behind the buildings, casting gloomy shadows across the procession. Loghain reined in at the Twisted Tayle, an establishment that boasted clean rooms and hearty fare. Having stayed there several times, he knew the boast was not an empty one.

Micah Tayle, a small man bent and twisted with age, gave him a bleary stare out of rheumy eyes. "What'll ya take?" he asked pugnaciously. His eyes fixed on Loghain in a fierce glower that might have been frightening to some had he a tooth left in his head. Loghain acquired the five rooms available and quickly handed out the keys, keeping one for himself and giving one to Tabris. She took it with a cold hand and an even colder thanks.

"You three stay in your rooms until I return," he instructed the elves and went in search of Sinclair, the smith.

Sinclair, a barrel-chested, heavyset man, with a guileless face and beefy arms, looked up from his forge with a grin. "What can I do for you…Loghain?" he asked in his deep, gruff voice. Loghain snorted at the former captain's surprise.

"Sinclair," Loghain greeted, stepping closer to the warmth of the fire. "You look well," he added and then braced himself for the slap on the back he knew was coming. Even braced for it, the slap nearly sent Loghain head first into the forge.

"By the Maker! It's been a long while, ser! What brings ya to my smithy?"

When Loghain had sufficiently recovered his breath, he replied, "Three new recruits who have no armor and poor weapons. Elves," he added as he righted himself.

Sinclair, to his credit, didn't snicker, his hand steady on the large hammer he wielded against hot steel. "Aye, elves ya say?" his former captain asked and made an odd, hiccupping sound.

"A woman and two men, if it matters," Loghain continued, ignoring the sound.

Sinclair had been a friend long before he had been a captain, had helped Loghain form the Night Elves during the rebellion. If anyone knew he held no ill will toward elves, it would be him. But for all that Sinclair didn't live in Denerim, hadn't been there during the whole slavery debacle, he obviously found some humor in Loghain's situation.

Loghain rubbed his forehead. To call what he had done a debacle hardly did justice to the matter. What had seemed so necessary at the time seemed so heinous now he was left to wonder if there was even a way to atone for the action. And now was not the time to try to find an answer. Looking back, he reflected sourly, did not change anything. Leonie was right, pressing forward was definitely the better option. For a moment he felt a genuine sense of gratitude to the Grey Wardens. They didn't see his past. Leonie had certainly demonstrated that often enough.

"I also need to find them some winter cloaks and gloves," he added, watching Sinclair cool the steel with a loud hiss of steam at it entered the cold water.

"Aye, Loghain. Give me a few days, I'll have 'em geared to the hilt," the man said, giving Loghain an appraising look from beneath shaggy grey brows.

"I need the gear now," Loghain said quietly. Sinclair laughed boisterously.

"Aye, I'll just pull the armor outta my arse, General," the man said with a broad smile.

Loghain successfully fought off the sigh that rose. "I would appreciate anything you can do before we leave tomorrow morning," he requested quietly.

"Ya staying at the Twisted Tayle or the Rusty Blade?" Sinclair asked, pounding on the cooled steel of the blade he was crafting.

"The Twisted Tayle."

"I'll bring what I can at first light," Sinclair promised and Loghain nodded wordlessly before stepping out into the gathering darkness.

He made his way quickly back to the inn. Wind whipped and howled and once again he hoped Leonie had found safe shelter for the night and then berated himself for thinking about her at all. He had plenty to do without mawkish, moonstruck thoughts over Leonie. He reached into his pocket and felt the vellum there, before opening the door to the inn and stepping into its inviting warmth. And the unmistakable sounds of fighting.

The inn's common room was filled with the sounds of patrons cursing and shouting. With a weight of dread growing in his gut, he made his way there. Loghain barely had time to register that a flagon was flying through the air before he was ducking. It crashed into the wall behind him and the contents splattered in every direction. Judging from the sticky sweetness now running down his neck, he guessed it was mead.

Karlin Tabris, her face vulpine in the lamplight, was jumping onto the back of a patron twice her size and three times her weight, in Loghain's estimation. She was pulling the man's hair and screaming at the man, who was trying to shake her off with no success. Irmas and Darius were holding their own against several locals and two of the Horseguard were throwing themselves into the fray as well. Had the entire room gone mad?

"Enough!" Loghain thundered, dodging an errant swing. He stood, arms folded, scowling at the entire room of miscreants. Shocked, everyone fell silent and a number of gape-jawed men looked at him.

Karlin Tabris, face pale and eyes still glittering with feral fury, glared up at him. "I'd expect you to take their side," she mocked, hands on hips.

"Be quiet," he growled. His headache was intensifying. He was hungry and tired and cold.

"That knife eared bitch owes me a drink," the patron snarled, pointing at Karlin. She looked ready to have another go at the man and Loghain moved to stand between them. Intervention would no doubt be one more source of friction between the recruits and Loghain but he wasn't about to let the brawl continue just to assuage his guilt or their pride.

"That _Warden_ owes you nothing. You, on the other hand, owe her an apology," Loghain said with quiet menace. "Now!" he commanded sharply and the patron's face paled.

"First Orlesians and now knife – " the man began in disgust. Loghain's hand shot out and gripped a good portion of the man's shirt.

"Now," Loghain ordered coldly. He would have gladly let his fist speak for him at that moment. No wonder Leonie had been so upset. He hadn't defended her against the slurs she had been subjected to during her visit to Denerim. And while he understood she would have been even angrier if he had resorted to fighting each person who had insulted her, he had shown very little sympathy or understanding either.

"Sorry," the man mumbled and Loghain loosened his hold on the man who staggered back.

"I would suggest leaving now," Loghain added and waited until the room had cleared before he turned to his three recruits.

"Didn't I order you three to stay in your rooms until I returned?" he snarled, glowering at her. She shot him a glare that held daggers and poison in equal measure. Ungrateful brat, he thought, his ire growing.

"Tayle!" Loghain called, ignoring the girl's venom for the moment.

"You'd better pay for this mess," Tayle began peevishly.

Loghain leaned across the stained wood of the bar and stared into the rheumy blue eyes of the old man. "Your patrons attacked Grey Wardens. You'd best rethink that notion," he responded with icy disdain.

He rounded up the three recruits and ordered them upstairs. Irmas would be sporting a black eye by morning; Darius was cradling a hand that looked like it had been mangled. Loghain sighed. He was not a babysitter, Maker damn it.

"Clean up and be in my room in twenty minutes," he commanded coldly to his charges and with cold restraint, quietly shut his door on the lot of them. "We'll all go down and eat then."

The meal was hot and filling, the company cold and silent. Loghain did not linger at the table once they were done eating their fill of stew. He stood, staring down at the recruits.

"We leave at first light," he said before retiring. "Stay out of trouble until then."

Loghain had difficulty sleeping. He had grown used to sharing a bed with Leonie's soft warm body nestled against him. After so many years of sleeping on his own he found it ironic that now he had difficulty doing so.

He slept fitfully and just before dawn he woke up in a cold sweat. It had been months since he'd been plagued with a taint induced nightmare of darkspawn. But the real horror of the dream had been seeing Leonie in it, conversing with the darkspawn in a language he had never heard before.

* * *

"You look well, Mama. Is Roan not here with you?" Leonie asked after both women had finally stopped crying. Ablett, Winslow and Travis had gone to their rooms to clean up and her uncle had gone to inform the cook that guests would be sharing the evening meal.

They were sitting side by side on a settee, holding hands and Leonie still couldn't believe she was sitting beside her mother, kept squeezing the hand that held hers to make sure it wasn't a dream.

"He stayed at Hunter Fell. We didn't sustain damage during the war or the Blight but many in our area did. And he is still mourning the loss of his son," her mother explained.

"His son? Rory, wasn't it?" Leonie asked, a small frown furrowing between her brows as she tried to recall the man's name.

Nila sighed sadly. "Yes, he was killed when Howe's men attacked Highever. He was a knight in service to the Couslands," the older woman explained. "You can imagine the words we had over your conscripting a Howe and then allowing Loghain to remain in Amaranthine," her mother continued with her quiet dignity.

"Oh Mama, I am so sorry. I did not mean for my actions to cause you or Roan pain," Leonie responded unhappily. The repercussions of her decisions were much more widespread than she had imagined and Leonie, while not regretting those decisions, hated that they had affected those she cared for.

"Lion, don't wear any guilt that isn't yours to wear. Whatever it takes, no matter the cost. I believe Roan understands, after the devastation wrought by the Blight," Nila told Leonie gently.

Leonie gave an unhappy laugh. The curse of being a Grey Warden, a sense of duty so deeply ingrained it was almost a corruption as strong as the taint that flowed in her vein. "Yes, duty," she reflected bitterly. "Always it is duty that guides my hand except, of course, when guilt or anger do."

Nila frowned and slipped an arm around her daughter, gently stroking Leonie's back. "What is it, Lion?" she probed with concern.

"I kept Loghain at the Vigil because I was angry with him. There was nothing noble about my decision. I didn't do it for duty's sake or for some noble reason. He made me angry so I lashed out," Leonie responded honestly and the tears came again.

"And I betrayed Duncan, I fell in love with the man," she added, voice thick with those tears. "Damn the Maker's twisted sense of humor."

To her surprise, Nila laughed. "Oh Lion," she began and then tightened her hold on Leonie. "The Maker has nothing to do with the fickleness of love," her mother scolded.

Leonie remained quiet. She had forgotten how comforting her mother's touch was, how it brought with it a sense of peace. Nila loved her without reservation, accepted who she was without question. Leonie was free to be herself without fear of rejection.

"I can't imagine the relationship is easy, given how stubborn you are and how stubborn I have heard Loghain Mac Tir is," her mother remarked after several moments of contented silence.

"Ha! He is the most stubborn man in all of Thedas. It is a curious thing, Mama. Duncan was so easy to love. We had our disagreements but never with so much anger. It is much different with Loghain. He is difficult to live with. Loghain and I would fight over the color of the sky had we differing opinions on it. I do not always understand why I love him," Leonie admitted with a rueful shake of her head.

"Perhaps, had you spent longer than a week or two in Duncan's company at any one time, you would have found more to disagree about," her mother began with a knowing smile. "You had the best of Duncan and he had the best of you. Your time together was short and you spent it reveling in that, rather than arguing about inconsequential matters such as the color of the sky."

Leonie pondered her mother's words and found there was some merit in them. She and Duncan hadn't had time to argue, had never been in each other's company for too long a period. She wasn't used to living with someone, to having her words and beliefs constantly challenged. She wasn't used to sharing her life on so intimate a level.

"You and Duncan both had one common purpose, as well. A duty that you both dedicated your lives to; that defined you both in many ways, Lion. I think that Loghain had a very different life and his experiences define him," her mother continued as Leonie mulled over her words.

More truth to ponder and Leonie, stomach rumbling greedily, stood and pulled her mother to her feet. "Thank you, Mama. You have given me much to think about," Leonie said gratefully. "Now, tell me about life in Hunter Fell."

It seemed, as Leonie and Nila made their way to the dining room, that Nila was very content in her life as a bann's wife. She spent hours in charity work and helping Roan rebuild Hunter Fell. Leonie felt a swell of love and pride for her mother, a momentary stab of envy for a life she would never get to experience; growing old with a loved one, living a quiet, full life. But even as that envy pricked at her, she knew that her own life was full and rich with family, even if they weren't family by birth; their blood ties were every bit as strong as the blood that bound Leonie to her mother and uncle.

Ablett and Winslow elected to eat with Renfrew's small garrison of soldiers, but Travis was waiting in the dining room for them, deep in discussion with her uncle, who was wearing a look of fascination as he listened to Travis.

There was something oddly compelling about the short, rotund man with his odd eyes. He was not at all what she expected of a royal soldier, especially not the Royal Horseguard, which consisted mostly of well seasoned soldiers, all of whom seemed to sit very tall in the saddle. Travis was almost too short for a horse, his stirrups adjusted high on the barrel of the horse. He was taller than a dwarf, but shorter than an elf and she wondered as she studied him, if he was a half-dwarf. She had heard such things were rare but possible. She doubted she would get an answer to the question if she posed it.

Travis took that moment to look up at her with his oddly mismatched eyes and he gave her a clucking nod of greeting. "No ordinary bandits, that much we know," he finished and Renfrew frowned as he glanced at Leonie.

"If not ordinary bandits than who?" her uncle asked, returning his gaze to the rotund man beside him.

"A mystery," Travis clucked and then smiled slightly. "Mystery and intrigue surround your niece," he added and shrugged. "Or so rumor speaks," he finished.

"Lion?" her mother queried and she would gladly throttle Travis at that moment.

"Court intrigue, people seeing what is not there, yes?" Leonie said lightly, sending a warning glance at her guard.

"It sounds a bit more than that, Leonie," her mother chastised.

"Bann Esmerelle tried to have me killed when first I arrived in Amaranthine. I did not oblige her. I thought we had cleared out all the conspirators but apparently we overlooked at least one," Leonie explained as she began to eat. "It is nothing, Mama. Travis should not have mentioned it," she added lightly.

"I have a request, Uncle Renfrew, as long as we are discussing politics and court intrigues," she continued. "As I wrote in my letter, I have appointed Delilah Howe Beechem as the Bann of Amaranthine and I would seek your support at the spring Landsmeet."

Renfrew chuckled. "You do like to stir the pot," he remarked, pouring more wine into her goblet.

"I will support you and speak to my neighbors about doing the same. I trust your judgment, Leo."

"Thank you, Uncle. It is a boon for the arling, and especially the city, to have her leadership. She governs with the _noblesse oblige_ that you follow as well. Under her guardianship, the city sustained far fewer casualties than it would have under Esmerelle's tyrannical rule," Leonie explained and then smiled sadly.

"I will not expect Roan's support, Mama. I did not realize when I wrote to you that he had lost his son to Howe's treachery," she continued.

"Nonsense, Lion. If he doesn't see the wisdom of your choice, I'll bring him to the Vigil and let him see for himself. He isn't an unreasonable man," her mother replied with fond smile for her daughter. Leonie returned it and without speaking of it again, began to enjoy the repast spread before her, which did not consist of salted fish or oatcakes, thankfully.

After the meal, Travis went in search of his room and Leonie watched him in relief. Renfrew caught her look and laughed. "You aren't entirely happy with your escort, I see."

"There is something very peculiar about him. I cannot quite dislike him but neither do I quite feel comfortable in his presence," Leonie explained, slightly embarrassed that she was so obvious. She would have to be careful not to let her expression be seen by the other men or Travis. He had done nothing to warrant her suspicion or dislike.

"Korcari born and bred, by the look of him," Renfrew said. "Wilder folk," he explained at Leonie's blank stare.

"Ah. Ablett seems to believe he is the son of a witch of the wild."

"Chasind folklore," Renfrew scoffed. "But they cling to old ways, there is no doubt of that. He looks a capable enough sort."

"Yes, and disconcertingly observant," she agreed as they made their way into the sitting room.

The hour was late when Leonie finally made her way upstairs to her room. She had been given the same room she and Duncan had shared on her last visit and she found it comforting somehow, even steeped in memories as it was. If she closed her eyes, she could see Duncan's expression when he had first opened her gift to him, the incandescent joy of a young boy who had never received a gift before. Following on the heels of that memory was the visit when he had given her the ring. To Leonie's surprise, no tears fell. Her memories were joyful things now, without the barb of bitterness and she climbed into bed, feeling safe and sheltered from the events of the past week.

She did not dream.


	19. Chapter 19

**Winter's Chill**

As promised, Sinclair arrived at the inn just as dawn's light swept away the last vestiges of night. He was pushing a small wooden cart in front of him. He smiled cheerfully at the three elves all of whom were stamping their feet and blowing on their cupped hands trying to stay warm. Loghain, relieved beyond measure that Sinclair had found at least some gear for them, stepped out onto the snowy street and greeted the smith.

"Not the best, but it'll do for now," Sinclair announced in his booming voice. He flashed another cheerful smile.

Loghain reached into his inner pocket and removed a small pouch of coins. Sinclair waved it away but Loghain insisted. Without checking its contents, Sinclair slipped it into the folds of his cloak and began distributing the gear.

If Loghain expected that the three recruits would be appreciative of the new items, he found himself mistaken. It would prove to be another long and trying day. He was already tired, the nightmare weighing on his mind more than he cared to admit. No matter how many times he reminded himself that it was a taint induced dream and nothing more, he felt a restless, nameless dread creeping just under his skin.

"We don't take charity from shems," Karlin sneered, folding her arms tightly across her chest and staring with hostile golden eyes at him. Loghain contemplated letting her freeze.

"Maybe you don't," Irmas spoke up, stepping forward. "But I'll accept it if there's a warm cloak involved," he added and Sinclair rummaged in the pile of gear, pulling out a dark, heavy cloak, bearing several inexpertly applied patches. The young elf's nimble fingers were tying it in place almost before Sinclair relinquished his hold on the item.

"Traitor," Karlin hissed at him contemptuously.

"Give it up," Irmas replied pityingly, slipping his fingers into a pair of gloves. "Hahren Valendrian told us it's an honor to serve with the Grey Wardens," he reminded her.

"With a _slaver_? Ha!" Karlin snorted, arms still folded.

Loghain tried to ignore the remark, tried to concentrate on sorting out the gear and getting back on the road. He found it wasn't easy to dismiss her anger or her words.

Darius moved forward and accepted his cloak and Loghain watched as the young Dalish elf's eyes fell on the weapons stacked neatly in the cart.

"A fine blade," Darius murmured, pointing at a shortsword. It was finely crafted, the blade without nicks, gleaming from a recent polishing.

"Aye, that it is, lad. Ya give it a good home," Sinclair instructed, handing the weapon to Darius.

Without a word of thanks, but with obvious gratitude, the young Dalish handed over one of his worn, nicked daggers. "In exchange," he explained when Sinclair gave him a questioning look. The older man nodded quietly and slipped the dagger into his belt.

Maybe, Loghain thought with a little less animosity, the day would not prove as difficult as he had thought. Of course that would only be true if they found a way to muzzle the little spitfire who was still adamantly refusing the items being offered.

"As a Grey Warden you receive a monthly stipend. I'll deduct the cost of your gear from your salary until it's been paid off," he finally said with no little amount of impatience in his voice.

"Fine!" she spat, grabbing the proffered bundle and all but hurling herself into the supply wagon.

"You're welcome," Loghain replied dryly.

With a final clasp of hands, Sinclair and Loghain parted ways and the group of travelers entered the arling by mid morning, coming to the Wending Wood an hour later. The snow covered the worst of the damage caused by the Dalish elf and the darkspawn. The woods were almost serenely quiet and clean in their white mantle, a far cry from the bloody battles the Warden's had fought a few months earlier.

The bandits, however, had returned. Loghain and his group hadn't gone very far before they met both a group of bandits and the Vigil's soldiers who'd been sent to patrol the woods. The soldiers were holding their own but Loghain dismounted and ordered his men to join the fight.

It was a good test of the recruits. As he suspected, Karlin fought with a ruthlessness that was as deadly as it was reckless. Her skill with blades was impressive but her form left her open to attacks and he heard her primal scream of rage when one of the bandits caught her in the side with his sword. His throat was slashed seconds later and she continued on as if the wound was a negligible annoyance and nothing more. Irmas's aim was true but he was slow, taking too long to set up his shot. Nathaniel would be invaluable in teaching him how to aim rapidly and accurately. He was most surprised by Darius, who was cool and calculating and swift with his new shortsword and dagger, agile and graceful in his moves. He would require very little training.

Karlin's wound was not deep, although she fought his ministrations with her usual lack of social grace. He finally tossed the poultice and bandages to Irmas and ordered him to stitch the wound up if it was deep. She seemed angriest that there was now blood on her new leather armor.

As they left the dead bandits and the patrol behind, he listened to the three talking amongst themselves, almost wishing he hadn't.

"I suppose, given how old he is, he doesn't do too badly with a sword and board," Karlin muttered reluctantly. "And you, Darius. Where did you learn to fight like that?"

"You think Dalish only know how to use bows?" he answered disdainfully. "I understand shems see us that way, didn't expect if from you too," he added coolly.

"Oh look, an angry Dalish," she snapped back.

Loghain's headache was in full bloom by the time they stopped for the midday meal. At least, he consoled himself with a grim frown, they would arrive at the Keep tomorrow afternoon. He found he had missed the Wardens, the familiarity of what was now his home. But as they traveled on, he found that the vitriol of the three recruits had diminished and even Karlin was having difficulty holding on to her venom. It seemed that they just might make good Wardens after all. Loghain's horse snorted as if in response to his thoughts.

They camped out that night, the three elves sleeping underneath the thick bearskin in the wagon and Loghain huddled on a bedroll, wrapped in a thick bearskin of his own, beside the fire. Winter's chill had settled across the landscape and into his bones, the night cold, the sky star studded. He could not help but remember being in a similar place, sitting around the campfire listening to Anders and Nate tease Leonie. It seemed a lifetime ago, a dream created by a fevered brain.

Finally, when he heard the soldier's change the watch, he fell into a sleep plagued by a nameless dread.

* * *

_Her Royal Majesty  
Anora Mac Tir Theirin  
Queen of Ferelden_

_Your Majesty,_

_We were attacked on the road yesterday. While I would not ordinarily burden you with such a thing, it is very probable that someone gave the attackers information known only to those of us in the palace. One of the men carried a sketch of me in his pocket. I assure you, they were no ordinary bandits. Unfortunately none survived. _

_I am hopeful that you will have this matter investigated._

_Leonie Caron  
Warden Commander of the Grey of Ferelden_

Leonie folded the missive and then, using her Grey Warden signet, sealed the letter, frowning. She wished she had examined the bodies more carefully. It seemed entirely too fortuitous that all of the bandits had died. She groaned. She had trusted Ablett Winslow and Travis on the say-so of the queen without any question at all. Maker's breath, she did not want to have to be wary of every single person in her life. But now that the thought was firmly entrenched in her mind, it would not be ignored.

"I must ask a favor, Uncle Renfrew. This must reach Queen Anora's hands as quickly as possible. It must only be given to her," she added with quiet authority. She had intended to send one of the men back with the note but now she wasn't sure it would reach the queen if she did so.

"Of course, Lion," her uncle replied without hesitation. "I'll see to it at once."

Entering the breakfast room, Leonie glanced at each of her fellow travelers. Which one could she trust? Ablett, with his youthful, open face? Winslow with his steady, quiet gaze? Travis, with his odd looks and unfamiliar ways? Any of them? Or was she better off not trusting any of them? She frowned as she sat down to a breakfast of thick cream and porridge spiced with cinnamon and raisins.

"Better to trust none than all," Travis said quietly and Leonie turned to look at him, startled. Was he a seer? Could he see inside her mind? Gooseflesh raised on her arms at the thought.

"A depressing way to live," she responded, reaching for the teapot.

"The alternative is far worse," he replied seriously, clucking as she spilled some of the tea.

Leonie set the pot down quickly, glancing around the table. He was correct, but that did little to alleviate her growing concerns. She would have to be wary until she was back at the Vigil; there was no help for it.

Before she could reply her mother joined them, dressed in a soft blue woolen dress, her hair caught in a long braid. She looked younger than her years and Leonie guessed that her marriage to Roan Gilmore had something to do with it. The stress of worrying about darkspawn and early deaths had undoubtedly taken a toll on her mother.

"Good morning, my dear Lion. You look well rested," her mother said, coming to sit beside her.

"Will you be stopping here on the way back?" Renfrew asked as he too entered the room to join them.

"No ser. We'll be on the North Road on the way back, it'll be too far off the track, I reckon," Ablett explained, reaching for his third helping of porridge.

Leonie wasn't certain who was more disappointed with the news, but she suspected she was. "If we are able to conclude our business at the mage's tower quickly, we shall stop by, Uncle Renfrew, but I would not hold hope for such a thing, yes?" Leonie added with a wan smile. The thought of traveling with people she didn't trust was attempting to strip her of her newfound peace and she wasn't going to let that happen.

"Ah, I had thought as much when I learned you were on your way to Kinloch Hold."

It was difficult for Leonie to say goodbye to her mother and uncle after being so newly reacquainted with them. She hugged her mother tightly. "Please come for a visit soon, Mama," she whispered against her mother's cheek.

"I will, dear Lion. Know that I love you," her mother whispered back. Leonie felt her mother's tears dampen her own cheek as she continued to hold her.

"Love once in your life is rare. Love twice is the rarest of gifts," her mother admonished tenderly and then Leonie was in her uncle's arms.

"Be safe," Renfrew instructed and then she was mounted and on her way.

As they rode down the long drive, Leonie turned once, to see her uncle and mother, arm in arm, waving to her and she lifted a gloved hand in farewell. She turned her face forward with great determination as it wanted to continue to watch her mother and uncle. She urged Bendis into a canter.

"Snow later," Travis intoned morosely.

The air was so cold that it seemed to be freezing any moisture in it, glittering diamonds against the blue sky. She glanced at the sun, a pale lemon orb that looked so cold it seemed to drip yellow icicles. There was not a cloud in the sky that she saw. A blustery wind blew bitter from the east.

"It does not seem so," she said, almost breathless as the frigid air entered her lungs.

Travis pointed to a flock of crows, gliding low in the brilliant blue. "Look for snow when the crow flies low," he intoned and then blinked, giving her an owlish smile.

"But Travis, I see no clouds," she argued with a short laugh that came out in a puff of frosted white breath.

"A moment," he responded, pulling up. She reined in as well, a questioning frown marring her features. He reached in his cloak, brought out a small jar and passed it to her. Leonie's frown deepened.

"For the cold, put some on your cheeks," he explained.

Leonie removed her gloves and carefully uncorked the small container. She sniffed it and was immediately reminded of summer nights in Orlais as jasmine and lemon verbena assailed her nose. She stared at it and then at Travis. How could she trust that it was safe, all things considered? Once again he seemed to read her mind as he reached over and took the glass jar from her. Clucking softly, he spread some of the cream on his cheeks and handed it back to her.

Tentatively she did the same and was surprised to feel a soothing warmth against her windburned cheeks. She smiled her thanks, handing the container back to Travis who clucked and slid it back inside his voluminous cloak.

"You are from the Korcari Wilds?" she asked.

He gave her an enigmatic smile and shrugged. "I am from wherever I need to be from," he replied and spurred his horse. She had no choice but to do the same, catching up to Ablett and Winslow.

They rode through the frozen landscape in silence for some time. Leonie wondered how Loghain was fairing with his charges and chortled at the thought of him trying to watch over three young recruits. He was no doubt cursing her every step of the way. It would be good for him to experience administering the Joining first hand and she hoped that the recruits all survived. He didn't need any more guilt to carry around.

Clouds began to pile up behind them as they continued heading west. They stopped briefly at midday. There had been no bandit attacks and no darkspawn to contend with yet and Leonie was thankful. The extreme cold made sword fighting not only painful but dangerous. She watched her companions as she choked down her salted fish.

Travis was the enigma, the puzzle that Leonie couldn't quite decipher. Was he Chasind? A Wilder witch? Leonie had heard that the Wilder still kept to the traditions of shamanism. Was he a Shaman? Or just a man who was different than most but was not troubled by the differences? He nodded to her and then wandered off to pat his horse, whispering something Leonie couldn't hear. The horse nickered and snorted, as if laughing at some private joke. Leonie, despite her uneasiness at doing so, found she trusted him more than her other travel mates. But then, none had given her cause not to trust them. Yet.

Ablett was huddled in his cape, wolfing down his food with relish, as if he were feasting at the Queen's own table. Such a young man, Leonie thought somewhat wistfully. Had she ever been that young? He seemed a remarkably open man and she found it difficult to imagine he was capable of subterfuge but she had been wrong before. Laurent was proof enough of that.

Winslow paced while he scanned the horizon in each direction, unable to stand longer than a moment at a time before continuing his pacing, stopping frequently to scan their surroundings. He kept a hand on the hilt of his broadsword. He was introverted and observant, a man who looked at the world, rather than partook of it. Yet he seemed entirely trustworthy and had taken an arrow that had no doubt been meant for her. She found she had little to no misgivings about him. Was she still so innocent that she believed in the innate goodness of people? It seemed likely in spite of all the evidence in her life that showed doing so was foolish and naïve.

"Winslow, what are you looking for?" she finally asked as they were preparing to remount. Winslow turned his intelligent grey eyes on her and she saw the fear that had taken up residence in them.

"I promised her Majesty that I would keep you safe, Warden Commander. I aim to keep that promise," he said tightly. "It seems like as not they sent more than one group after you."

Leonie glanced at Travis again and then back at Winslow. "Then let us be away. It is more difficult to catch a bird than a stone, yes?" Leonie answered, mounting.

They would have to stop for the day sooner than Leonie would like. The horses were tiring more quickly in the cold weather, traveling through snow that had now crusted over and felt like stone beneath their hooves. The clouds were looming, gathering like a roiling mass of smelted ore.

"Violent storm," Travis announced, sounding oddly cheerful as he twisted in his saddle to look at the clouds.

"Why is that happy news?" Leonie asked glumly. The last thing she wanted was to be caught in a violent snowstorm in the middle of the Bannorn with someone who might want to kill her.

"We've outrun it. Whoever is tracking us will find it more challenging," he clucked and then chuckled. "Feel the wind. It's changed directions," he added when she gave him a disbelieving look.

Leonie pushed the hood of her cloak back and felt the wind had indeed shifted and was now coming in from the north, slightly warmer. It was as if they had crossed some invisible barrier, she thought as they continued on. Less snow on the ground and what was there was slushy. Even the sun seemed to be thawing out.

"If I did not know better I would think you had a hand in this," Leonie said, only partly in jest.

Travis gave her a wink and a half smile lit his round found. "Mayhap, Commander, mayhap."

They stopped in the village of Fenn's Light just as the sun finally gave up its precarious hold in the heavens. The inn was clean and cozy, its rooms snug and warm. Leonie found she was exhausted and after a plain but filling soup, she went up the steep stairs to her room and fell asleep almost the minute her head touched her pillow.

Her dreams that night were troubled.

_She was lost in a labyrinth, trying to find the source of strange guttural noises that reverberated off the stone walls. She thought she must be in the Deep Roads, alone and without weapons. She stopped to listen, trying to determine the direction of the sounds. In listening, she began to understand. The darkspawn were looking for her. They called her _Salutari_. She had no idea what it meant. She turned and ran, trying to find her way out. _

She woke up with a low cry, her body and bedding soaked with her sweat. Sleep did not return.


	20. Chapter 20

**A/N**_: With the holidays hurtling toward us, updates might become more sporadic. I'll do my best but family and friends and holidays are all converging. I understand now why many call the holidays the Silly Season.  
My heartfelt thanks to all those who continue to follow the story and to all those who review a special thanks for letting me know what I'm doing right…and wrong, both help more than I can express._

**Moments of Truth**

The dream lingered in Leonie's thoughts far more than she would like. It robbed her of her appetite and her peace of mind. She waited impatiently for the others to finish their breakfast so they could be on their way.

"You didn't sleep well," Travis said as they prepared to mount. Leonie gave him a tired smile.

"Unfamiliar surroundings," Leonie explained, pulling herself into her saddle.

"More likely bad dreams," he replied with his odd clucking sound. She stared at him in surprise.

"You're a Warden. I've heard you're prone to nightmares," he explained reasonably and then clucked again. "Not all Warden secrets actually are," he added with a chuckle.

"True enough, Travis," she agreed, dispirited by the thought of the few Warden secrets that many Wardens didn't yet know. Her report to Weisshaupt was still sitting on her desk, unsent. Only her quickly penned letter to Fiona about the Architect's death had been sent. She sighed. There was every reason to believe the First Warden already knew the truth about the Calling. If she had her way, that would change.

"Will we reach Kinloch Hold today?" she asked Ablett, trying to get her mind off that particular subject. She did not want to dwell on her dream or the secrets that hid within it, or the secrets that dwelled within the fortress at Weisshaupt.

"If we don't stop and you don't mind arriving in the dark, I guess we could," he replied uncertainly. "The moon's near full, should give us plenty of light to travel by, but I'll warn you, Commander, it will be more than cold."

"There are worse things than being cold, Ablett," she countered seriously and gave spur to her horse.

Far worse things indeed. They came across a marauding band of darkspawn, ten strong, just an hour later. Leonie warned her companions and they dismounted, leaving cloaks and horses behind to battle the darkspawn.

Leonie was dismayed to find that there were several hurlocks and an emissary in the group. Genlocks were the weakest of the darkspawn, easily taken down by non-Wardens but hurlocks were tactical creatures, stronger and more difficult to kill. Leonie felt the hot flow of her blood and the rush of adrenaline pumping into her.

"The emissary must die first," she commanded, pulling up her sword and dagger. Travis charged in, bringing his shield up in a sweeping arc that caught the emissary mid cast and sent the creature tumbling backward.

Leonie advanced on him and her sword found a home in the creature's throat. She pulled her sword out and spun around to find the nearest hurlock, who was about to cut down a very busy Ablett, too busy fending off a persistent genlock to notice. She hurled herself at the hurlock who was just as happy to stab her and she felt the cold steel blade penetrate her light leather and then her skin before her own blade found the hurlock's chest. She pushed her dagger in to the hilt, screaming in pain and rage as she twisted it. He fell to the ground and she with him, still trying to remove her blade.

Pushing herself up, she continued fighting, aware dimly that she was tiring too quickly, that her vision was a bit blurry. She heard Ablett and Winslow yelling but couldn't make out what they were saying, intent on making short work of the rest of the darkspawn. It wasn't until the last one fell that she realized her own blood was running freely, great red ribbons in the snowy white field.

Sitting down abruptly, Leonie pressed her hands against her thigh. "I am fine," she told Travis as he knelt beside her but she didn't resist when he helped her lie down on someone's cloak. Where had that come from? She smiled up at the man with the odd colored eyes.

In truth, she had been clumsy in her fighting, her mind preoccupied with thoughts of darkspawn trying to communicate with her and she had been hurt because of it. She was certain the man tending her felt the same way by his clucking and head shaking.

"Chew this," Travis said, handing her a dried root of some kind. She nodded weakly and began to chew. It tasted like anise and juniper. She gagged on it but Travis patted her calmly. The pain subsided and she felt drowsy, almost lethargic.

"Burn the bodies," she whispered, finding it more and more difficult to think clearly.

A gentle pulling and she realized Travis was stitching her wound closed. Ablett was sitting beside her, holding her hand and thanking her and she gave him a puzzled look. Why was he thanking her? She was a Grey Warden. Her duty was to kill darkspawn. She closed her eyes, trying not to whimper as Travis continued to stitch her thigh closed.

Whatever Travis had given her kept her pain minimal for the remainder of the day, which was a foggy blur to Leonie. They stopped ever few hours to rest the horses and when they did, he would check the dressing and bandage on her leg, give her more of the root to chew on and feel her forehead.

Dusk came and the moon, nearly full and brilliantly low in the sky, washed away the night and stars, a beacon guiding them on to their destination. When they finally reached the docks on Lake Calenhad, it was to discover the boat's owner had gone home for the night. Travis procured rooms at the inn that sat on a hillock overlooking the lake. Leonie thought it was a beautiful eerie sight; the tower, turned silver in the moonlight, rising above the deep blue of the lake. By then, she thought her bed an even more beautiful sight. Travis helped her up the stairs and checked on her wound one more time before leaving her. She didn't bother undressing, just laid down and closed her eyes.

Her last thought, before falling into a deep sleep, was of Loghain. She wondered how his first Joining had gone. And then she simply fell asleep.

* * *

By the time the Vigil came into sight, Karlin Tabris was marginally less hostile. Loghain's amusement was held carefully in check as he heard her whisper a question to Irmas who would then nonchalantly ask Loghain. How large was the keep? Would they have their own rooms? When would the Joining take place? What could he tell them about it? The more questions she asked, the more acutely aware Loghain was of how little he knew about the Grey Warden history. His amusement finally gave way to irritation. He could recite chapter and verse on Ferelden history, name the kings and queens from King Calenhad forward, could recount the most famous battles fought throughout the ages but he had no idea when the Grey Wardens had been founded or by who.

At midday they stopped briefly and Loghain stood apart from the group that huddled together eating their oatcakes and salted meat. The Vigil, now a large formless shape on the horizon rather than just a blot, meant home and it felt more than a little odd to Loghain to be returning without Leonie. He should have insisted he be the one to go to the tower. He was much better suited to that task than the one she had assigned him. But then, he reflected wryly, that's why he was here and she was on the other side of Ferelden.

Maker help him if any of the elves died in the Joining. That, he had learned, was a distinct possibility and as they neared the Vigil, he felt his tension mounting. Karlin and Irmas were standing in the wagon as it traveled the rutted, snow covered road. Darius looked out at the passing landscape, distant and aloof. Any one of them might die. Loghain's hand tightened on the reins and his other hand, resting lightly on his thigh, had fisted. It was a truth that he had avoided thinking about until now.

As the Keep took shape, all the turrets and parapets and towers looming ever closer, Loghain found his thoughts turning darker. Karlin would survive. He had no doubt, she was too ill-tempered not to. Darius was difficult to read. He seemed calm and determined on the outside but even Loghain could sense the rage that lived somewhere underneath the composed façade. Would his rage serve him well in the Joining or would his calm? Irmas was the one he was most concerned about. He was edgy and insolent but pragmatic. What was it that determined who would survive the Joining and who wouldn't? Did the Grey Wardens have some method for ascertaining that or did they just force the blood down as many throats as they could and hope for the best?

He thought briefly of Mhairi, whose desire to join the Wardens had been so intense, a romantic notion that she would ride griffons and save the world. Leonie had carefully closed the young knight's eyes and ordered a pyre for her, a separate pyre to recognize Mhairi's status as a Grey Warden. He had seen the brief flare of sorrow in Leonie's eyes but she hadn't let that sorrow stop her from pressing forward with her duty. He cursed silently. She should be here to perform the Joining. He felt inadequate to the task and that was something he didn't appreciate feeling.

The Wardens, along with Varel and Aura, were all in the courtyard when they entered the gates. Loghain noticed with approval that the repairs had continued unabated in his absence. Despite the cold and the snow, the scaffolding held a number of workers carefully setting stone into place. The Wardens all crowded around him, talking at once and welcoming him home, with the exception of Alistair, who was quiet but present. In fact, Alistair seemed strangely less hostile. Loghain made a mental note to talk to Varel later and find out how that had come about.

"Hey! Where's Lion?" Anders demanded suddenly.

The Wardens all fell silent, turning their gazes on him. Loghain felt the weight of his headache pressing in on his skull. Where indeed? He'd driven her away, but he wasn't about to admit that to the mage. He had trouble enough admitting it to himself.

"Kinloch Hold by tomorrow, I should imagine," Loghain answered curtly. There was a murmur of surprise that seemed to be growing in volume the longer he refused to say more.

Varel, with his omniscient eyes, took in the scene all too easily and began to issue orders. Quarters for the new recruits, beds for the soldiers, who would be returning to Denerim in the morning, unloading the supplies all taken care of efficiently, effectively silencing the outcries from the Wardens who demanded to know why Leonie had gone to fetch Jarren Tabris. Loghain nodded his thanks at the seneschal.

"When do you wish to hold the Joining?" Varel asked quietly.

Loghain was tempted to tell him not until Leonie returned. Instead he instructed Nathaniel and Anders to accompany the recruits into the Deep Roads beneath the Keep for the vials of fresh darkspawn blood he knew were necessary for the Joining. That was almost the sum total of what he knew about the ritual.

"We'll hold the Joining in two hours. I expect all of you to attend," he said sharply, eyeing the Wardens gathered. Veiled glances, curiosity and accusations but all nodded at him without disagreement.

Without another word, Loghain reached into the cart for the trunk that Leonie had somehow managed to fill with gifts for her Wardens. When others offered to take the trunk from him, he shrugged them away and walked up the stairs to Leonie's room. There would be time enough for a question and answer session but now he wanted to change out of his traveling clothes and into his armor.

He set the trunk down gently and looked around Leonie's empty room. Someone had finally replaced the window in their absence but the weak winter sunlight that filtered in did little to brighten the room. Her bare armor stand, the carefully made bed, the stale air of a closed room all seemed accusatory. He rubbed his forehead and without another glance around at the emptiness, he quit the room.

As he strapped the last piece of his armor into place he recalled the night Leonie had given it to him. She had told him if he ever wanted to know about Narsden, the man whose armor he now wore, to ask her. He never had. He hadn't bothered and if someone asked him why, he wouldn't be able to tell them. This life, this Grey Warden existence had not seemed real to him until now. Somewhere on the road between Denerim and home it had suddenly begun to matter.

He had scorned the Warden trappings, been faintly contemptuous of their traditions, thought of himself as just a soldier doing a soldier's job, protecting Ferelden from darkspawn. Now, as he prepared for the Joining, he realized it was more than that. He saw the true sacrifice Riordan had made in trying to ground the Archdemon, understood the sacrifices both Duncan and Leonie had made in order to put their duty first. That kind of commitment to duty he understood, but in his arrogance, he had believed only he had made those kinds of sacrifices.

He had finally come to appreciate that there was a bond between them all that was much stronger than those bonds forged in friendship, or in the fires of battle. The Wardens who had greeted him upon his arrival were not just fellow soldiers fighting darkspawn, they were family and they lived their sacrifice every day. Only his conceit had prevented him from acknowledging it until now. He found himself angry with his thoughts, angry with the whole sorry business. He snorted. Leonie's influence, he thought with another derisive snort. Next he'd be braiding daisy chains in his hair. He pulled the door shut with unnecessary force.

He made his way downstairs to find the Wardens gathered in the throne room. The recruits were back with their vials of darkspawn blood and all eyes were on him as Loghain entered the room. He noted the chalice sitting on a small table, knew it could kill any one of the three young elves standing before him. Alistair, Anders, Nathaniel, Tamra and Sigrun, all in their Warden armor, stood behind the recruits, solemn and pale.

"The Wardens bear a duty that is greater than themselves," Loghain began, trying to remember the words that Leonie had spoken at the earlier Joinings. "This duty is both a blessing and a burden and your life will be irrevocably changed."

Loghain paused to glance at each of the recruits. Karlin met his glance with a challenging look of her own, standing without regret or fear. Irmas was eyeing the chalice Loghain now held nervously but with deliberate determination. Darius stood aloof and proud, waiting patiently.

"Join us brothers and sisters. Join us in the shadows where we stand vigilant. Join us as we carry the duty that cannot be forsworn. And should you perish, know that your sacrifice will not be forgotten. And that one day we shall join you," Varel intoned.

"From this day forth, you are Grey Wardens," Loghain said quietly.

Karlin took the proffered chalice and drank. Her reaction was immediate and intense. A gasp, fingers curled around her throat and eyes rolling back in her head as she staggered backwards. Loghain remembered the searing pain, the liquid fire that ran through his veins and screamed to be released. Remembered the pounding of a thousand fists beating at his skull with a throbbing torment. Remembered how grateful he was to succumb to the blackness until the nightmare chased him back into awareness. He remembered his own hope that the pain and darkness would end in death. It had not for him. It did not for Karlin. She stumbled, groaned and fell back. Anders caught her and gently lowered her to the ground.

"She's alive," the mage said, his relief mirrored by the sighs of the others as Anders stood.

Irmas looked from the prone figure of his fellow elf to the chalice and then into Loghain's eyes. There was a question there, a hesitation and Loghain gripped the chalice tightly. He did not want to have to kill the elf for refusing the chalice and for a long moment, he thought he might be forced to. Tension found its way into each corner of the room, every space between. He saw Varel move slightly, knew without looking that he had his hand on the hilt of his dagger. But if it came to it, Loghain would do the deed, as much as he loathed the thought.

"I – if I don't make it, tell Karlin to let my family know," Irmas said quietly, breaking the uneasy silence. He accepted the chalice and drank, shuddering as the taste hit his tongue and then letting out a blood curdling cry. His fingers clawed at this throat, his tongue protruding, swollen and the color of blood. He pitched forward, writhing in agony. Loghain didn't need to hear Anders confirmation that the young man had not survived.

Darius said nothing, merely looked at the others in the room and with a stoic shrug, took the chalice and drank. He calmly handed the chalice back to Loghain and smiled slightly just before the spasms started to wrack his body. An odd gurgling and a grunt and then nothing more. He fell silently, caught by a surprised Nathaniel. "He'll live," Nathaniel said softly.

Loghain nodded and handed the chalice to Varel. "Get them to their rooms and then have the men build a pyre of Irmas," he instructed quietly. Was losing one acceptable?

They gathered in the dining hall and Aura brought out a tray of ale and food. Loghain was surprised to feel hunger gnawing at him. He reached for the bread and a mug of ale as he began to be assailed with questions about the trip.

Loghain wondered if the interminably long day would ever end. As soon as he was done eating he made his way to his office. A sharp rap at his door pulled him from the accumulated papers he found there.

"Enter!"

Alistair, looking tentative and belligerent, entered. "I need to talk to you," he began, his voice dying away. He cleared his throat as Loghain motioned him to a chair.

"I need to know the truth. About Phindar," he managed in a stronger voice.

"The truth?" Loghain echoed with a snort. Apparently the whelp had found a bit of a backbone. "So much for the Grey Warden notion that the past no longer matters after the Joining," he continued bitingly.

"Just give me the simple truth, Loghain. Why did Phindar take the killing blow?" Alistair snapped back.

"Boy, the truth is seldom simple and rarely convenient," Loghain replied acidly and stood up. How much of the truth was the boy really ready to hear, Loghain wondered. The truth as he had told Leonie or the darker truth that he had tried to forget?

The past, he had once told Phindar, was always there. It was present in the blood and bone, in the very skin. Everyone wore their past and they could no more escape it then they could forget it.

"You want to believe I'm a monster and he is martyr. Maybe that's the best thing to believe," Loghain said quietly, surprising them both.

"No! You don't get off that easily!" Alistair cried angrily, pushing his chair back and standing as well. In that moment, he looked so like Maric it made Loghain's chest hurt.

"Easily? You think this has been easy for me? I would gladly have gone to my death," Loghain began, his own anger jumping to life, washing away any momentary softness he had felt looking at Alistair Theirin. He fell silent again. Did he tell Alistair about the last words that Phindar had spoken, of regrets and sorrow and a pain that went as deep as any he had himself felt? Did Alistair deserve that honesty?

"You deserted him, boy. What right have you to know the truth?" Loghain sneered, stepping around his desk and coming to stand inches from Alistair.

"I – I don't have the right," Alistair said, his anger dying away. "I just need to know," he added stiffly.

He was reminded of Maric again; a young and unsure Maric, a young man who would hear the truth and then pretend he hadn't until forced to do otherwise. "Sit down," he ordered and when Alistair did, Loghain moved back to his own chair.

"He decided I would make a better hero than an elf and a mage, at least in part," Loghain began. "He thought I could better help Ferelden heal after the Blight. I disagreed but he was my commander."

Alistair leaned forward, listening intently. "All of it," he muttered.

"You know the truth, boy. You just don't want to believe it," Loghain replied.

"Then tell me, Loghain! Surely the great Commander of the Ferelden Armies isn't afraid of one man's truth," Alistair bit out.

"What did you think would happen, boy? You took a newly harrowed tower mage and threw him into the role of commander. He didn't have any more idea how to lead than you did, but he took all the hard decisions on his shoulders. And the one decision that he needed your support on, the one that was the most difficult, was the one that cost him everything."

Watching Alistair's face crumple, watching the pain and reproach in his face, Loghain felt as if he were watching Maric right after Maric had slain Katriel. A hard knot formed in the pit of Loghain's stomach. He had helped Maric become a stronger king but he had killed the young man who had been his friend. Now, looking at Alistair, he felt it as sharply as if it had happened yesterday and not thirty years ago.

"Get out," Loghain said quietly and watched as Alistair stood and stumbled to the door. If Alistair truly had Maric's blood flowing through his veins, the boy would be the better for knowing the truth. So he had believed of Maric and so he believed now.

Would the boy wallow in self-pity or would he finally become the man his father would be proud of? Maric had risen above the self-pity, with Rowan's help. He could only hope that Alistair would do the same because he was done helping Theirin men find their mettle.

Somewhere, he was sure, Maric was laughing at him for even thinking that.


	21. Chapter 21

**A/N: **_This chapter is a series of snippets of the week that follows Loghain's return to the Vigil as Leonie makes her way back home and is from various PoVs_**.  
**_Happy Thanksgiving to those who celebrate it! And now back to baking pies and a last minute trip to the grocery store…again!  
_

**Moments of the Between**

_Summer's zenith. Mortals could not do justice to such a day, Leonie decided, sitting at her easel, trying anyway. Brush strokes brought the stalks of wheat into focus, long golden shafts, sheaves tied and ready for threshing. She set the brush aside and stared at the sky, made cloudless by the heat of the sun and a breeze that carried sweet grass on its breath. Bees announced themselves with low rumbling content as they found delight in the trumpet vines that grew in wild abundance along an old split timbered fence._

_The Vigil was days away, as were the Wardens and duty. The farmstead was not large but boasted a small barn and a four room timber and stone house with a newly thatched roof. She smiled, thinking of Loghain and a crew of local men re-thatching the house while she mucked out the barn. _

_Leonie looked over at the small pond where Loghain sat, trying to catch their dinner. She wondered if he even knew how little she liked fish. As if he was aware of her eyes on him, he looked over his shoulder at her and smiled. Caught in the sun his hair, unbound and ruffled by the breeze, gleamed as dark as winter mink. His smile, still so rare a thing to her, softened the sharp angles and planes of his face, relaxed the tension that so often furrowed his brow. He looked rested and happy as he fished. _

_Standing, she set aside her paints and removed the long smock that covered her plain linen blouse and skirt. A drowsy day, a day made for celebrating life. Leonie smiled in return and made her way to his side. She straddled his lap, her skirt hiking up to her waist. "Will you fish all day, Loghain Mac Tir? Or will you take me to bed?" she asked with an inviting smile. _

_The fishing pole dropped in the grass and Loghain's hands ran along her legs, up her thighs and under her skirt to rest along her hips. "Bed," he growled, bringing his lips down to touch her throat. His tongue flicked along her skin there and she gasped, head lolling back. Her fingers brushed along his arms and up to tangle in his hair. _

_With great restraint, she stood and walked arm in arm with Loghain as they made their way into the farmhouse. _

With a startled cry, she awoke in an unfamiliar place, her mind numb with longing, her heart racing. A dream, and yet for a wild moment, she could almost feel his lips on her skin, trailing kisses along the curve of her neck.

* * *

_Loghain's mouth slanted demandingly across hers, his tongue delving deeper into her, sweeping, playing, teasing. He heard her moan, captured it, returned it with one of his own. Threading his fingers through her hair, he cradled her head, scattering kisses everywhere he could find to kiss, her cheeks, her eyelids, her ears and then capturing her mouth again in a long, slow kiss. He could feel the wild beat of her heart, could feel his own shouting in return, matching her erratic beats. _

_He leaned back, looking into her eyes and then closed his own as she ran curious and seeking fingertips along his skin, the breadth of his shoulders, down to his tapered waist and wrapped with wicked intent around his erection. His breath hissed out against the warm velvet of her skin as he leaned into her touch. She was torturing him with her slow, steady strokes, bringing him to the very edge of reason and back again, her mouth an onslaught of silk on his skin._

_He moved then, to capture one hard dusty rose nipple in his mouth as she arched into him. And almost against his will, he was sliding into her. She was swollen and wholly aroused; all slick, wet satin as her walls clenched around him. He growled, a low rumble of want against her nipple as she dug her nails into his still sun warmed flesh and urged him on with words and body. He tried to hold back, tried to bring her own release to her with fingers that had learned the curves and softness of her body, that knew their way of their own volition, to the center of her core. Gently massaging the spot elicited sharp, wordless cries of need. He gave in to her demands and his own body's demands, a crescendo of wanton abandonment as they moved with increasing urgency, her legs wrapped around him, her lips bruising against his. _

He awoke with a startled moan, alone in his room, his erection throbbing for her touch. A dream, nothing more, and yet so intense he could almost smell her desire on his fingers.

* * *

First Enchanter Irving looked old and worn, his eyes haunted. He sat behind his desk, fingers steepled, as he contemplated her request. Leonie was trying not to fidget. She wanted to be on her way. Ablett had assured her that they could make the Vigil in six days and she was more than ready to be home. But the First Enchanter was a pedantic man, one who seemed intent on knowing why Jarren Tabris was needed by the Commander of the Grey and how she even knew of him.

"Anders, our healer, spoke quite highly of his talents."

"Ah, so it's true. Anders _is_ a Grey Warden now," the First Enchanter murmured. His voice, deep and rasping, held a tone of affection when he spoke of Anders.

"Yes, First Enchanter. A wonderful addition to our ranks," Leonie responded and again resisted the urge to fidget. She had sat for nearly an hour listening to the virtues of Phindar Surana and another hour discussing Duncan with him, a journey that had been surprisingly less painful than she could have imagined.

"I suppose if I don't release Jarren, you'll simply conscript him," he said with a hint of humor in his voice.

"I do not wish to have to do such a thing, First Enchanter. However, a Blight so newly ended brings with it much work for Grey Wardens and I am in need of this mage."

"If he is willing to go along with you, I won't stop him," the First Enchanter finally agreed and Leonie's relief was immediate.

The mage in question was very near in age to Leonie. His hair was a tawny mane, flowing halfway down his back and his liquid brown eyes were full of intelligence and a bit of suspicion. Leonie and Jarren waited for the First Enchanter to leave before they spoke.

"What do you want of me?" he asked bluntly, running an agitated hand across his forehead.

"Are you not the most brilliant alchemist in Thedas? Or did Anders make that up?" she replied with a smile.

"Anders doesn't compliment anyone else's skills unless he wants something," Jarren Tabris announced, tilting his head and studying Leonie intently.

"Perhaps he decided unlocking a mystery was more important than using someone, yes?" she replied and then tried not to flash the triumph smile as his attention, first caught, was now held firmly.

"Unlocking a mystery?" he echoed. "What sort of mystery?"

"I cannot say more, unfortunately. This is a Grey Warden matter. Should you wish to solve this mystery, you must travel back to Vigil's Keep with me. I will not force you to become a Grey Warden, but you will not be able to discuss this with anyone outside of the Wardens. _Ever_," she emphasized firmly.

"A hint about the mystery would be nice," Jarren replied with a hint of impatience.

"It involves the properties of blood," she said and watched his reaction. He smiled and nodded. She found herself smiling in return.

"How soon can you leave?" Leonie asked, mentally bracing for the inevitability of a long wait.

"Ten minutes."

True to his word, Jarren Tabris, carrying a pack full of notebooks over one shoulder and a pack of clothing over the other, was ready to depart the tower ten minutes later. It was decided he would ride with Leonie and the first hour of their trip was spent explaining the situation.

"I'll need some of your blood, some of this Svanar's you mentioned, darkspawn blood, another Grey Warden's blood and I'll use mine as well," Jarren instructed and then fell silent, deep in thought.

Leonie was content with the silence as she became lost in her own thoughts. She needed to apologize to Loghain. He had been right when he accused her of wanting him to change into someone he wasn't. She hadn't realized it until her mother pointed it out. As the miles fell behind her group, Leonie continued to contemplate how complicated her relationship with Loghain was and how little she had acknowledged that it was difficult for Loghain as well.

When they stopped at midday, Travis came over to her and pulled out a small, sharp knife. "We need to take those stitches out," he said quietly. Leonie looked down at the gap in her riding breeches, held closed by leather lacing now and quickly untied the lace.

"It seems very soon for the stitches to come out," she replied nervously and he clucked.

"Now's an odd time to stop trusting me," he replied with a chuckle.

To her surprise the wound on her thigh was already closed and healing well with no sign of infection. Her experience with stitches had been they stayed in place for days, until the itching of mending skin drove her half mad. But these stitches, small and neatly formed, were ready to come out and did so with little pain. "I do not know what to say, Travis. This looks almost completely healed."

Jarren poked his head over Travis's shoulder and nodded his approval. "Couldn't have healed it better myself," he said and then looked at Travis.

"Chasind healer," he commented and then went back to his meal.

"Are you indeed a Chasind healer?" Leonie asked and when Travis started to rise, she reached out and held his wrist lightly to stay him.

"Sooner or later you will tell me, Travis. I would prefer it be sooner."

"Later it is," Travis replied calmly, with a glance at Ablett and Winslow. "Ask me when we get to Vigil's Keep," he added softly.

* * *

"Casteless?" Sigrun asked sympathetically, pointing to Darius's tattoos. She had found the new Wardens in the dining hall, eating a large breakfast, even by Warden standards.

"What?" the elf asked uncomprehendingly. The look he gave Sigrun was colder than the frost riming the windows. She grinned and tried again.

"Are. You. Casteless?" she asked again very slowly, enunciating each word clearly. She heard the young female elf choke on her breakfast.

"I'm clanless, if that's what you're asking," he responded tersely and fell silent.

Sigrun sighed. "I meant the tattoos," she replied, trying to put some perkiness back in her voice. She pointed to her own tattoos. "This one is a brand to announce to the world that I'm casteless. These are the brands of the Legion of the Dead," she explained earnestly. "What do yours mean?"

"Our ways are not your ways, Durgan'len," Darius Mahariel intoned grimly and went back to eating.

Sigrun bit back a chuckle. "I can be gloomy too," she began and then lowered her voice, her face taking on a serious cast. "Woe, alas and alack, I travel alone in the dark. Just me. Woe," she said despondently and then stood with a cheeky grin. "I choose not to be," she added as she moved away from the handsome, tattooed elf. She heard Karlin laughing as she left.

He found her in the library. "Vallaslin, it's called Vallaslin," Darius said quietly. "Blood writing," he added. "I'm Dalish."

Sigrun set aside her book. "Blood writing? Ouch, that sounds painful."

"And branding doesn't?" he queried, curiously. Sigrun stared at him. Was he serious? She thought she detected the tiniest flicker of humor. She went with it.

"Ha! Good point. Glad there's a sense of humor in there," she replied.

The elf stared at the books that lined the walls. Sigrun watched with interest as he went to a shelf and ran his fingers gently along the spine of a book. "The library is for all of us to enjoy. Help yourself!" she chirped. He reached for one and she immediately spoke again.

"That particular one probably isn't one you'd be interested in," she added, blushing. He had chosen a rather steamy romance, "The Bard and the Bandit" and even Sigrun had been embarrassed by some of the passages.

"There's a book or too written about the Dalish," she offered, standing and walking over to another bookshelf. "Bet they're just as inaccurate as the ones about the dwarves but it's kind of fun to see how humans view other races," she finished and then grinned up at him. He was not all that much taller than she was and her grin widened, nearly splitting her face. At least she wouldn't get a stiff neck looking up, up, up at him all the time.

* * *

Alistair wandered down to the dining hall, still adjusting his armor. He had slept very little and his mood was not light. He carried the weight of Loghain's words heavily on his shoulders. It galled him to admit how true Loghain's words had been and that truth gave them power.

"Hey, I recognize you!" the young elf from the Alienage cried as he sat down to eat his breakfast.

Alistair looked up from his plate of oatcakes and honey, studying her. She looked only vaguely familiar and he couldn't decide if he'd actually seen her before or if she just had that kind of face that could belong to almost anyone.

"I'm sorry, I don't think we've met before," Alistair mumbled, taking a long drink of cider.

"You and that elf mage, the Hero of Ferelden, came to the Alienage and stopped the slavers. Soris and Shianni are cousins," she explained and then gave a bitter snort. "Most of us are cousins in some way," she added with a grin that was as feral as it was brief.

Alistair acknowledged that with a short nod before returning to his meal. The last thing he wanted to do was discuss Phindar or their exploits together, especially those leading up to the Landsmeet. His mind shuddered away from it, from Loghain's truth.

"That bastard," Karlin hissed as Loghain entered the dining hall.

Alistair glanced at Loghain who quietly gathered a cup of tea and a plate of bread and cheese before making his way back out of the room. Surprised, Alistair heard himself speaking.

"I don't know if anyone mentioned it to you, but a Warden's past dies when he takes the Joining. Whatever happened before then no longer matters. Save yourself some grief and accept it," he said and started to shove away from the table.

"Well isn't that convenient?" the young woman sneered.

"And necessary. You can't fight next to your brothers and sisters if you are busy hating them," Alistair snapped. He certainly had figured that out the hard way.

"Yeah, well your friends and family weren't sold into slavery by that pompous arse," she hissed.

Maker, had he sounded that bitter and angry? He supposed he must have. He had certainly _been_ that bitter and angry, blaming everyone and everything for decisions he hadn't had the courage to make.

"You think so, do you? I was at Ostagar. I lost far more than you can imagine," he finally replied and there was less heat than sorrow in his words.

He watched as the young woman's face paled but to his relief she offered no pity or false condolences. She tucked into her food, her expression less hostile. He pushed away from the table and started to leave but turned and said quietly, "We're all brothers and sisters, Karlin. This is now your family. You'll be much happier if you get used to the idea."

Maker knew _he_ was still getting used to the idea.

* * *

The Roster of the Dead lay open on the desk behind him as Loghain watched the small procession march through the Vigil's gates. Alistair and Sigrun, bundled against the harsh wind in their warm grey cloaks, led the procession and he saw Alistair throw his head back, laughing at something Sigrun said. She was struggling to keep up with the young warrior's long strides and Loghain watched with a snort of amusement as Alistair tried to shorten their length, mentally revising how long it would take their round trip.

With luck, they would return within the week. He'd wanted to send the two of them on horseback but the eight soldiers with them didn't know how to ride and he wasn't sure Sigrun could sit a horse. Three days there, three days back, weather and circumstances permitting. Maybe by then Leonie would have returned. He hoped.

Loghain rubbed weary hands over his face before turning and sitting down once more. He added Irmas Durahn's name to the list and then looked at some of the other entries. Leonie had written a few words about each Warden, a way to remember each sacrifice. He thought there might be tear stains on the most recent entries. Her brothers, her Orlesian Wardens who had died on foreign soil. The losses had been far more difficult for Leonie than he had given her credit for. Loghain wrote a brief description of Irmas beside his name and closed the book.

There was training to arrange and the two newest recruits needed to learn how to ride. They needed more gear. There was a list of things Loghain wanted to accomplish before Leonie's return. He went in search of Varel to explain what he wanted. The two men discussed the stores and supplies set aside for their use through the winter and how long it would last. They had enough for their use but Loghain was not confident about the supplies for the arling. He rode out later that day to visit with Eddlebrek.

* * *

Their third night on the road was spent in an old abandoned cottage, one wall gone, but it kept the whipping wind from freezing the blood in her veins and Leonie leaned toward the fire with sincere appreciation for its warmth.

The moon was rich cream, melting down in long streams that dappled the countryside. It had been too quiet, their hard ride across the winterscape unmolested by bandits or darkspawn. Nervous anticipation quickened her thoughts, made her nerves snappy and oversensitive. When Travis laid a calming hand on her shoulder, she jerked.

"They do not seem to be following us. Does that not make you nervous?" she asked, looking into his steady gaze.

"No. What lies before us is another matter," he said seriously, squatting down beside her and pulling out a thin string of meat.

She sniffed. At least it wasn't fish. Maker, she was sick of the smell and taste of fish. And oatcakes. If she never saw either again, she would rejoice in the streets of Amaranthine. He handed her a piece of the dried meat and she accepted it with a smile of relieved thanks.

"Do you suppose they yet know that the assassins failed?"

"Hard to say. Not even sure why they want to kill you," he admitted.

Leonie shrugged. "Why does anyone ever want to kill another? Some see me as an Orlesian threat to the crown. They believe I have conscripted the most powerful men in Ferelden and am even now amassing an army."

Travis clucked, patting her arm lightly. "And the others?" he queried softly.

"Ah, well, that is a complicated matter and one that is Grey Warden in origin."

"So I'll need to become a Grey Warden to know that it has to do with your blood," he began and Leonie felt a knot of fear and surprise push a fist into her.

"What do you mean?" she asked, turning accusing eyes on him. But he returned her look with his usual candid openness that seemed to hide more than it revealed, for all its openness.

"Oh don't look so frightened, Leonie. I'm not here to harm you or steal the secrets, just an observation after meeting the mage," he reassured with another pat on her arm. "And if it wasn't your blood, they wouldn't want you, would they?" he continued reasonably. She raised a brow, her hands folded tightly in her lap.

"I told you before, not all Warden secrets are," he added. "You give yourselves away more often than you'd guess."

Leonie found it very difficult to get comfortable enough to sleep that night, her mind twisting and her stomach churning. Travis knew more than he should. Was it really just observation? Was it something more? Had someone told him something? And yet she couldn't bring herself to distrust him. That bothered her almost as much as his clear and concise observations about her and the Order.

* * *

On the fourth day of Alistair and Sigrun's departure, Loghain tossed the training leads to Nathaniel. "You see if you can get through to her," he growled and walked quickly to the Keep.

"He sure gets mad easy," Karlin remarked snidely, sitting astride the small chestnut mare.

Nathaniel turned to look at her. "Not without good reason, usually," he returned quietly.

Darius had learned very quickly, having ridden hallas in the past. But Karlin's own obstinacy was preventing her from learning at all. Nathaniel hadn't had to watch long before realizing that. She was being deliberately provocative and then snide when Loghain lost his temper. The surprise was that Loghain was allowing her to get under his skin.

"Weren't you a volunteer?" Nathaniel finally asked as he led her horse back to the training ring.

"Sure, why?" she asked, puzzled.

"You could be a little less quarrelsome then. Nobody forced you to be here so why the hostility?"

"Ah, offended your noble sensibilities, did I?" she poked and he stopped, his face and voice solemn when he spoke again.

"I'm not a noble. Neither is Loghain. And before you start with that useless prattle about being mistreated, stow it. It doesn't belong in the Wardens. If you can't let go of the bitterness, you'll poison us all."

Karlin's eyebrow shot up and her lips tightened. "My bitterness has saved my arse on more than one occasion," she replied with cold dignity.

"Ha. I could have said the same before I joined the Grey Wardens. They gave me a chance to let it go, to start over. You'd be a smart to do the same."

An hour later, she was trotting around the training ring. An hour later, she was learning how to groom the horse. Nathaniel left her in the stables to report her progress to a surprised Loghain.

* * *

He was in the training room watching Tamra and Karlin fighting on the seventh day. Tamra had been a remarkably good influence on the young elf. She was slowing her attacks, planning her next move. Loghain watched as she spun and ducked from Tamra's assault. She had the same strange mix of grace and awkwardness that Leonie had when she fought, without the skill and long practice to make it effective. With time she might be every bit as formiddable as the Commander.

"Riders!" Anders exclaimed, coming into the room, his face lit from within, his smile nearly splitting his face. "Four riders approaching! Lion's home!"

All movement and noise ceased for a moment and then pandemonium ensued as the older Wardens dropped what they were doing and went to find cloaks and gloves. The day was dark and heavy with the threat of fresh snow and the wind was vicious as it swept in from the east, bringing the scent of icy saltwater on its breath. Darius and Karlin shrugged at each other but made their way out to stand with the other Wardens.

Loghain made his way out to the courtyard to join the Wardens. He had thought Sigrun and Alistair would be back by now. If they didn't return within the next day or two he decided he would ride out in search of them. Not that he knew how to make his way through the tunnels Alistair had described but he wasn't willing to sit idly by if there was trouble at the Peak.

He was surprised to see Anders standing so close to Aura that the woman was in his shadow, but noted that Anders wasn't touching her and he wondered if the mage's cheeks were pink from the wind or something else. He smirked. No wonder the mage had been oddly quiet all week, and so anxious for Leonie's return. Loghain had been irritated with Ander's constant questioning about when she could reasonably be expected back at the Keep, an odd jealousy tickling at Loghain's subconscious but now he realized Anders needed her advice and his smirk turned into a grin. Never had he thought to see Anders in need of advice on matters of love and the fairer sex.

And then the riders made their way through the gates and into the courtyard and Loghain had no more time to think. He came to Leonie's horse and held his hand out to help her dismount. She took it with a tired, heartfelt smile. She was home and everything else could wait.

_A/N: Alistair and Sigrun's visit with Avernus and Leonie and Loghain's reunion will be in the next chapter, lest you think I was going to ignore both events. _


	22. Chapter 22

**A/N**: _Another chapter from various PoVs as Leonie and her companions arrive at the Keep and Alistair and Sigrun meet with Avernus. And some NSFW moments later in the chapter._

**Home and Away**

Karlin recognized the shock of tawny hair and let out an exclamation. "Jarren!" she yelled, pushing her small frame through the tight throng of Wardens crowding around a tall woman.

"Little Karli?" the elf still sitting astride the horse asked in surprise.

Andraste's arse, who was the woman everyone was fawning over? She elbowed Anders out of the way. The tall mage gave a startled yelp and moved. She reached up both hands and Jarren slid off the horse and onto the ground in a heap.

"Well, I wasn't expecting you," Jarren announced from his position on the ground. Karlin reached down both hands and pulled him to his feet. He was finally taller than she was, hardly surprising. She had been eight and he twelve when the templars had taken him to the tower. From the look of it he hadn't cut his hair since.

"These shems thought I'd do ok as a Grey Warden," she said, winding her arms around his waist and hugging him. "Didn't think I'd ever see you again," she added, trying to keep her emotions out of her voice. It wasn't working.

"They say if you travel enough it becomes a small world. Whoever _they_ are, they're right," Jarren said, pulling back to meet her eyes.

"And how is my father? He hasn't written in some time," Jarren asked. Karlin took a deep breath.

"There was an outbreak at the Alienage. He's with the Maker now," Karlin said. It was probably true. At his age it would have been difficult to survive the conditions on a slave ship. That he had been taken at all had been a surprise. Why take someone that old? It had made no sense then and it made less sense now.

"Ah. I'm surprised you didn't bother to let me know," Jarren finally said, his voice faintly reproachful.

Karlin felt a pang of remorse, but only a pang. The Alienage had been a mess for nearly a year and not in much better shape now, all these months after the end of the Blight. He hadn't lived through it all, he hadn't witnessed friends and family dying from illness or taken as slaves or killed in the Blight as the horde devastated the Alienage.

"We lost a lot during the Blight, while you were sitting safely in your tower," she grumbled angrily and then sighed. It wasn't his fault he hadn't been there.

"Soris and Shianni are doing well," she added quickly into the uncomfortable silence that had fallen. "Arl Teagan, the new Arl of Denerim, is personally seeing to the restoration and expansion of the Alienage," she continued.

"Let's get out of this mess of shems," she finally groused and grabbed his arm to guide him away from the others.

* * *

"Travis, I see your skills were needed," Loghain greeted, looking at the laces holding Leonie's leathers closed at her thigh.

"I expect that's why Anora sent me," Travis agreed with equanimity. "Darkspawn caught her while she was trying to save Ablett's sorry hide," he explained.

Loghain glanced at Leonie, surrounded by her Wardens and looking slightly panicked as they pushed closer. He knew how she felt about crowds pressing in on her, he had seen that look before. He moved forward and took her arm, extracting her from the group. She gave him a grateful smile as they made their way up the steps.

He wanted to take her upstairs and greet her privately but that seemed unlikely at the moment. To his credit, Varel took charge of the situation. Loghain heard him issuing orders for rooms and telling Aura to have a meal prepared as quickly as possible.

"Where are Sigrun and Alistair?" Leonie asked, loud enough to be heard above the cacophony.

"Not returned from Soldier's Peak. I expect them tomorrow," Loghain reassured. She met his eyes, to gage his emotional state. He returned her look with a somber question of his own. They smiled slightly and then entered the Keep.

"I need a bath," she mumbled and he snorted.

"At the very least," he agreed.

"I see you have been working on your charm while I was away," she responded dryly, the hand on his arm tightening for a minute.

Loghain arched a brow at her. "Kind of you to notice," he replied.

He was nervous. At the time the idea had come to him he hadn't questioned the wisdom of implementing it but now he realized it had been the height of arrogance for him to assume she would think it a good idea. He hesitated at the bottom of the stairs.

"Bath or a proper greeting for your Wardens first?" he asked her.

He watched the conflict on her face as she stood there and felt a familiar heat coiling in his loins. She wanted neither, she wanted him and if he could have swept her into his arms and carried her upstairs he would have. But she was disengaging herself to move to each of her Wardens and greet them.

Travis came to stand beside him watching her as well with his canny eyes. "Tell me about the trip," Loghain said quietly.

* * *

"Thank you, Varel," she whispered, kissing his cheek. She could feel the heat creeping into his cheeks.

"Of course, Commander. Welcome back," her seneschal greeted politely. "You were missed," he added warmly and Leonie chuckled.

"I suspect you and I have much to discuss," she said and he bowed as he stepped back.

"Much," he agreed and then she was hugging Aura, whose stomach seemed to have expanded in Leonie's absence.

"Lion, you look exhausted," Aura greeted with a laugh. "I have ordered a bath be prepared and I've planned a large feast."

"You look radiant, Aura. You are feeling well, yes?" Leonie asked, staring into Aura's eyes. There was a faint bloom of roses in the woman's cheeks.

"Very well, but I'm anxious for the babe to make an appearance," Aura confessed with another laugh. "And I've months to go."

Nathaniel stepped forward and Leonie gave him an affectionate hug. "The plans for the wedding?" she whispered as he returned her hug.

"After Delilah and Aura have given birth," he replied quietly. "Tamra wants Delilah to stand witness and Del refuses until she isn't as large as a horse. Her words not mine," Nathaniel added with a chuckle when Leonie glared at him.

Anders was as nervous as she had ever seen him. He gave her a bone crushing hug and started babbling about being away so long and how could she do that to her favorite mage, did she realize how grumpy Loghain was when she wasn't around and on and on until she finally put her fingers against his mouth.

"You are not yourself, Anders. What is it?" Leonie asked sternly, staring up into his usually open and cheerful face. She saw his eyes flick toward Aura and back.

"It can wait," he finally said gloomily. "It's waited this long."

Leonie shouldn't have been surprised. Aura was such a beautiful woman, delicate and sweet, with a strength that lay hidden underneath. She glanced up at Anders. If he hurt Aura, Leonie would not forgive him. The woman had suffered enough. From the look of anguished longing on his face that wasn't going to be an issue.

"I see. Have you told her how you feel?" Leonie asked and then laughed at his look of abject terror.

"Ah. You wish to have her come upon the knowledge on her own?" she continued wryly.

"No. I mean, I don't know, Lion. Look at me. I'm everything Kristoff wasn't, obviously," Anders muttered. "I can't even pick up a sword, let alone fight with one."

"Perhaps it is the very differences which are needed, yes? You will walk in your own shadow and not another's. That is a good thing, I believe." Leonie, having spoken the words, realized how true they were now that Loghain no longer walking in Duncan's shadow.

Anders frowned and then let out a whoop as he picked her up and spun her around. "I _knew_ you'd figure it out! Ditch the old man and run away with me," he said happily and then shook his head. "No, bad plan. Aura wouldn't understand and Loghain would kill me," he added. By then Leonie was laughing merrily at his antics.

"Perhaps just talk to Aura, yes?" she suggested with a smile.

"Ooh, talk to her? And say what? Hi, I know you're pregnant and a widow, and I haven't got spit to give you, but hey, I'm cute enough that it doesn't matter?" he scoffed.

"Or you could just tell her how you feel and perhaps she will surprise you?" Leonie asked.

"Hmmm, I take your point, fearless leader," Anders mused. "A sensible plan. Not sure why I didn't think of it myself."

"I think because it _is_ a sensible plan," Leonie teased with another laugh.

"Did I say I was glad you're home? That might actually have been a lie," Anders quipped and she patted his cheek.

"I shall remember that, mage. There will come a time when you shall wish to retract those words," Leonie threatened. He was not impressed, moving away with his usual waggle of brows.

"Tamra, you are looking well," she greeted a moment later, having finally caught her breath again. She gave the young woman a warm hug. "I hear the wedding will be in the spring."

"Yes, but only because Del is as stubborn as her brother. Or perhaps more so. But I've waited this long. A few more months matters not."

"I met a young man in Denerim who claimed to be a cousin. Ser Reginald, I believe he was called."

"Reggie? Oh, I haven't seen him in years. I should write to him. He'd be the perfect person to take over the farmhold," Tamra exclaimed and gave Leonie another hug. "Perfect! I've fretted over the vacant tenancy for months."

Finally she came to Darius and Karlin. Loghain stepped forward to make introductions, explaining quietly that one of the elves had not survived the Joining. Leonie's heart ached at the news. She detested losing anyone in a Joining and felt doubly bad for having had Loghain perform the ritual without her and then having to go through the pain of losing one of the recruits.

"You and Jarren are related?" Leonie asked the young woman.

"Cousins. You making him a Grey Warden?" she asked coldly.

Leonie frowned. "I will if it becomes necessary of if he desires such a thing."

Karli snorted and moved away. Leonie stared after her, wondering how she managed to get through a doorway with a chip that big riding on her shoulder. She turned to the Dalish elf.

"_Andaran atish'an_," she said, bowing slightly. The young elf looked startled and then bowed in return.

"You speak our language," he began but Leonie shook her head.

"Only a few words. I was lucky enough to serve with a Dalish hunter during my first assignment. He was a good man, a _Falon_," she answered. "He taught me much and it was a great sorrow when his Calling came. I miss him still."

"Do not make the mistake of the others. I am no hunter," Darius replied and with another small bow, he moved off.

She was still standing there, watching the new recruits bemused by their almost open hostility when Varel appeared at her side.

"A prickly pair," he said with a hint of a smile.

"So it would seem, Varel. I can only imagine how happy Loghain was to travel with them," Leonie agreed and chuckled at the thought.

"And the pyre for Irmas Durahn?" she finally asked.

"Just as you would have wanted, Commander."

"I suppose I better bathe. Everyone seems to be keeping their distance, except you. I think you are perhaps too polite to do so," she commented, looking up at him.

"As you say, Commander," he agreed with another hint of a smile.

"How is Alistair?" she asked, changing the subject and her tone as she made her way to the stairs.

"Better, I believe. He spent more time with the Wardens and less time with himself," Varel answered and then laid a light hand on her arm.

"The restorations in the family wing are complete. I ask that you inspect them before you retire," he requested formally and Leonie hesitated, staring at him in surprise.

"I – is it necessary? I smell like horse and sweat and darkspawn," she said but a look at his face, serious and grave, stopped her.

"Very well," she consented and they mounted the stairs together.

The long corridor of the newly restored family wing was lighter than the others, with richly colored tapestries and large landscapes adorning the walls. It was cheerier than Leonie was used to seeing in the somewhat dreary and bleak Keep. There were long, heavy carpets running the length of the corridor in a deep burgundy.

She stopped suddenly and turned to her seneschal. "I have not properly thanked you, Varel. You have done so much for the Grey Wardens and for me personally. I do not wish you to believe it goes unnoticed," she said softly. She leaned up and bushed a light kiss on his cheek and stood back. "You are the true treasure of this place," she added sincerely.

He blushed and smiled and looked so uncomfortable that Leonie took pity on him. "Come, show me these new rooms, my friend."

She tucked her hand in the crook of his elbow and they continued down the long corridor, passing several doors along the way but not stopping until they reached the end of the corridor. He opened a door and stood back, waiting for her to enter.

"I will see you at dinner, Commander," he said and turned, walking away.

* * *

Alistair and Sigrun exited the maze of tunnels and Sigrun let out a long whistle of breath.

"By the ancestor's ti – stone, how did you find this place the first time?" she asked, clearly impressed.

"I'd like to take credit, but Levi Dryden led us through the first time. You don't really want to know how he managed it," Alistair replied with a grin.

Even on her worst day, Sigrun was a breath of fresh air and sunshine. He was surprised by the amount of genuine affection and warmth he felt for the dwarf. His thoughts skittered to Goldanna and away. How different his life would have been if Goldanna could have been even a little like Sigrun, instead of hard and cold and bitter. Not that he blamed her. He blamed Eamon for lying to her, for not offering her support over the years. But Goldanna was dead, one more body destroyed by the darkspawn when they overran Denerim. Alistair had stopped by her tiny house on his way out of town the day of the Landsmeet. He had two sovereigns with him, and a few silver. He had urged her to take her children and flee the city, to head north and he'd given her all his silver and one of the sovereigns. She had taken the money and laughed at him.

"Hey!" Sigrun's voice interrupted his morbid, bitter thoughts.

"What are all these people doing here?" she asked, pointing to a group of men, women and children gathered around a bonfire.

"They're the ones I told you about, the Drydens," Alistair explained, looking down at the dwarf with a grin. "Part rabbit," he said and at her puzzled look, added, "Prolific breeders."

She laughed. "Like nugs, got it."

"Maker's breath, it's the Wardens," Levi chortled. "We wondered when you'd be back."

Alistair felt a brief stir of disquiet. He really didn't want to explain to Levi and the others that he had deserted his fellow Wardens on the eve of battle. He rolled his neck and shoulders, trying to ease the sudden tension there. "We've been a bit busy. How are things here?" he finally answered, keeping his voice light.

"As long as Avernus stays in his tower everything's good," the lumbering blonde said, coming to clasp Alistair's shoulder. "And with the Wardens?"

"Phindar didn't make it," Alistair said quietly and the merchant nodded.

"Figured that out when they said he was a Hero. Not many of heroes live to hear their title," Levi said sagely and then looked down at Sigrun.

"Another Warden?" he asked, reaching out a hand to clasp her arm. Sigrun gripped his in return, her grin as merry as ever.

"Sure am," she proclaimed proudly. "Sigrun, dead woman walking," she introduced, thumb pointing proudly to her tattoos.

Alistair chuckled. The first time he'd heard her refer to herself that way had startled him. Hearing Leonie and Sigrun tease each other about that had made him realized it was almost an endearment, a matter of pride with them both.

"Well, that sounds like it'll make an interesting story over supper," Levi replied and led them into the large Keep.

Alistair was amazed at how neat and clean everything was now. Of course it had been nearly nine months since he'd last visited Soldier's Peak. The large Dryden family had been busy making it a home and it would serve the Wardens well as a base of operations.

"Avernus still lives, eh? So much for him moaning that he was old and not long for the world," Alistair remarked as Levi led them to the living quarters of the Keep.

"Bloody mage will outlive us all," Levi snorted. Sigrun howled with laughter and both men eyed her curiously.

"Blood mage, bloody mage," she explained between peals of laughter. Alistair grinned. She was irrepressible and his own disquiet was tamped down in the face of her good humor.

"Well, I'll let Marda know we're having company for the evening meal. Two Wardens at the table is like adding six or seven of us," Levi said and left them.

"So," Sigrun said, looking around the room. "Let's go meet this bloody blood mage. The sooner we get back to the Vigil, the happier I'll be."

Alistair found himself agreeing and that was an odd feeling to have. Phindar had once called him a "roses and hearts" kind of optimist. Words long forgotten in the heat of the mage's decision at the Landsmeet now came back to him as they made their way across the parapet to Avernus's tower. He had been, in those days, altogether too naïve and immature but he had relied on that optimism to get through his painful loneliness growing up.

"Agreed. Just be warned. He is a sarcastic, impatient and _creepy _old man," Alistair reminded her and then stepped into the tower.

Avernus, looking even older and more frail, was seated at his desk. He didn't look up when he said, "Ah, the charming chantry boy. Come to moralize?" the old man asked irascibly.

"Yes, I've come all this way in the snow just to let you know what a crusty old bastard you are," Alistair agreed sardonically, taking in the room with a low hum of disgust. Cobwebbed and dust encrusted, the room still seemed to hold the tortured souls of long dead Wardens, victims of Avernus's research.

Avernus raised his head and looked at Alistair with nearly opaque eyes. "I'll assume since your pragmatic fellow Warden didn't accompany you that he is the one who slew the Archdemon."

"Yes, a shame you were too old to do it," Alistair retorted and Avernus snorted at that.

"Why have you come?" the old mage asked finally. "And who's your new companion. A Warden without a name?"

Alistair rubbed his forehead, irritated. "Sigrun," he grumbled and then stepped closer to the old mage. "And we're here to deliver a message from the new Warden Commander, Leonie Caron."

Avernus waved a hand with a cynical smile. "So, you've been reduced to a messenger? I find that reassuring," the old man said and Sigrun laughed.

"You really are a bloody old bastard," she chirped, moving closer to the blood mage.

"Thank you, young Warden. You, on the other hand, seem remarkably cheerful for a casteless dwarf."

"Casteless but not alone. Can't imagine _you_ have many visitors," she retorted and at this exchange Alistair found himself chuckling.

Avernus nodded, as if he'd reached a decision. "So, what does the new Commander of the Grey want with me? Time to pay for my wickedness?"

Alistair reached into his pack and removed the two vials of blood. "She wants you to examine this blood," he said and handed the vials to the old man.

"Interesting. Another pragmatic Warden," Avernus said, reaching for them with surprisingly steady hands.

Alistair watched with a horrid fascination as the old man uncorked the vials and sniffed at them both, frowning. "No ordinary blood. How did you come by it?" Avernus asked and there was an almost eager delight in his voice.

"You really are creepy," Alistair mumbled with a shudder.

"So you have said. Repeating yourself shows a weak mind," Avernus returned, carefully corking the vials and setting them on his desk. "Hardly surprising."

"You know as much as you're going to, old man. Examine them, find out what makes them different. Send a messenger to Vigil's Keep in Amaranthine when you know something," Alistair said and turned to leave. He stopped, turning back to the old man.

"Why didn't you tell us what happens to the Warden who kills the Archdemon?" he asked, accusatory.

"Would you have believed me?" Avernus countered crossly. "Now go, I've work to do."

* * *

Leonie stood on the threshold, staring at the sitting room. Done in soft blues and yellows, it was restful and inviting. She took a step into the room. A fire was burning with crackling warmth in a large fireplace and two overstuffed chairs were placed before the fireplace. There was a small table with two chairs across the room, near a set of doors and a pair of bookshelves on the opposite wall with a long, low settee between them. It was not just a room, it was a haven and she felt the unexpected prickling of tears start. She wiped at them impatiently.

"I suppose those tears mean you don't like it," Loghain said, coming into the room behind her.

"You have much to learn about female tears, Loghain," she murmured, turning to face him with a somewhat watery smile.

"So it would seem," he agreed with a smirk.

They stood facing each other, questions asked and answered in the silence. Leonie smiled softly. "Do these new quarters boast a bed and bath?" she asked taking a step toward him. He too took a step.

"I've been led to believe they do," he replied with an arched brow. "Let us hope so for all our sakes," he added as they each moved another step closer.

Leonie realized she was holding her breath and let it out in a long huff. "You really must work on those compliments."

"So you say," he replied with another smirk.

He took her hand, leading her further into the room, to a door that led into a large bedchamber, done in the same restful colors. Her belongings were unpacked and her armor stand stood next to another one upon which was Loghain's armor. She noted his weapon stand was nearby as well and she bit back a smile.

"I see I am to share these new quarters," she remarked dryly.

"It seemed a more practical solution than one of us traipsing down the halls at night," he replied quietly and she heard in that quiet confidence an undertone, a question, a hint of concern for taking such a bold step.

"Imminently more practical," she agreed with a smile.

"Just so," he agreed smugly as he led her to the bathroom where a large tub held steaming water for a bath.

She began to undress, aware that his eyes were on her every move. She grinned as he made a disapproving noise at the new injury on her thigh. She slid into the steaming water with a hiss of pain and pleasure, the water caressing her bruised and tired flesh and bone. Muscles uncoiled and stretched languidly as the warmth seeped in.

"As a matter of _practicality_, you could assist me," she remarked archly, tossing him the sponge.

He caught the sponge deftly, a spray of scented water splashing across his face. He growled menacingly as he moved forward and perched on the edge of the tub to comply. She was tempted to pull him in but the temptation to try out their bed was greater.

The very instant she was clean, he pulled her out of the tub and into a waiting bathsheet. He rubbed her dry as if she was child and she laughed. "You seem very impatient," she murmured, her voice husky with desire.

"Indeed? The same could be said for a woman who bathes so quickly," he replied and, satisfied that she was dry, whisked the bathsheet away and pulled her into his arms, his mouth descending on hers for a blistering kiss. She welcomed the feel of his lips, the pressure of them forcing her mouth open and she greeted his tongue as it plundered her mouth.

They stumbled their way to the bed, lips keeping them close, desire blinding them to anything save each other. Yanking at his clothes, they both fumbled over buttons and laces until the last piece of clothing fell away. Leonie let her hands wander his broad chest, fingertips tracing the crisscross of scars. She felt him shudder against her, felt his manhood, hot and pulsing, push against her belly.

"Please," she moaned as his lips moved across her skin. Soft breathless moans as he hovered above her, nipping at her newly scrubbed skin. He pulled a hardened nipple into his mouth, biting gently and her cry, wordless with want, escaped her mouth as her fingers skimmed down his waist to grip him.

"Tell me," he urged in a voice thick with lust. His eyes, heavy lidded with passion bore into hers and hot blood spread downward. She could feel herself wet and swollen with want.

"I love you Loghain Mac Tir," she moaned, arching her hips up in her need to feel him inside her.

Loghain growled and continued moving down her body, his lips and tongue relentless as they assaulted her. His lips feathered across her newly acquired scar and she shivered, a low mewl of want as his breath ghosted against it and then moved to her center and his tongue flicked across it one, twice, small circles of teasing warmth that spiraled outward to shatter her mind as she bucked and twisted against the intensity of his pursuit.

Her cry was long and low, inarticulate. She tugged at his hair, encouraging him to side up her body and his lips captured hers as he plunged into her heated core. His gaze held hers, the passion and desire darkening his eyes and she arched into him, held on to him as waves of pleasure robbed her of breath and reason.

"My love," she whispered, nails scraping along his heated, sweat slickened skin.

She felt his muscles tighten, saw his nostril flare as he continued to plunge into her with graceless abandon. An inarticulate cry from him as he shuddered and bucked, his seed spilling inside her. He continued to shudder for a moment before he laid his head down, a welcome heaviness on her breasts.

"I love you," he groaned, the sound so deep and husky it reverberated through her chest, through her skin to the bone and marrow before resting in her heart.

* * *

Alistair and Sigrun were preparing to leave when one of the many Dryden children came up to Alistair, her small hands tugging at his cloak.

"Avernus wants to see you," she claimed with a bright smile and then went skipping off to play.

"Because clearly I want another visit with him," Alistair said and shook his head as they trudged back into the Keep.

"Yeah, you two get along really, really well," Sigrun agreed, practically skipping to keep up with him. Alistair slowed his steps.

"Yes, maleficarum and crotchety old men are my favorite people," Alistair remarked with an unwilling grin. "Imagine how thrilled I am that he's both."

"You really are not half so bad when you're like this," Sigrun said candidly as they made their way once more across the parapet.

"Thanks?" Alistair said but he found himself grinning. It felt good to be with other Wardens, to feel that kinship again. It almost made Loghain bearable. Almost.

"You told me these samples were different," Avernus accused in his acerbic, gravelly voice.

"They are," Alistair protested, hackles raised by the old man's tone.

"They may be from different Wardens but the blood has the same properties," Avernus said. "And I need more of it. The power in this blood is extraordinary," he added, his voice far too excited for Alistair's liking.

"How could you know that so soon? You haven't had any time to study them," Sigrun protested when Alistair said nothing.

"Enough time to know there's something special about the samples," Avernus replied caustically.

Alistair shook his head. How was that possible? "Sigrun's right. You haven't had enough time to learn anything," he argued but the argument fell flat and he knew it.

"Two hundred years of research says otherwise, chantry boy. Tell your commander that I need more blood," Avernus ordered and then dismissed them, going back to his work, thin, rounded shoulders hunched over his notes.

Making his way over to the old man, Alsitair said brusquely, "I want a written report. We're leaving in twenty minutes. Have it ready by then."

Sigrun shot him a surprised look that held admiration in it as well. He waited until they were out on the parapet to let out his breath. It was like a punch in the gut and a blow to the head at once, Alistair decided as they stumbled back down the stairs. Similar, he could believe, but the same properties? And what had he meant by the power in the blood?

The trip back to the Vigil seemed impossibly long to Alistair.


	23. Chapter 23

**Dream Walker**

Dinner was a large and boisterous dinner, where conversation and ale flowed with equal abandon. From her vantage point, Leonie watched the interactions of the newest Wardens. Darius seemed cool and aloof but he seemed willing enough to participate in the conversation. Karlin, with the exception of her cousin Jarren, seemed to hold everyone else in great contempt. Leonie saw her work was cut out for her with helping Karlin let go of her bitterness. She knew that if the elf didn't let go of it, she would be of no help, and possibly a great danger, to her fellow Wardens.

Travis, Ablett and Winslow joined the Wardens and the tales of derring-do grew bolder by the pint. Leonie snickered as she heard Anders boasting about how many darkspawn he killed during their battle that first night at the Vigil. To hear him talk, he was the only one capable of saving the Vigil from the onslaught. She and the others might as well have been stick figures in a play.

Nathaniel snorted. "If only your spells matched your ego in size, mage," he said in amusement.

As the laughter died down, Leonie excused herself, claiming fatigue from the journey and left, bidding everyone a good night. Loghain joined her.

"Karlin Tabris seems an odd choice for Hahren Valendrian to send along," Leonie began as they mounted the stairs.

"Yes, I've asked myself why he did that several times. She has potential as a fighter but that attitude is poisonous," Loghain agreed. "Irmas seemed the most likely to fit in with the others," he added and there was a strange note in his voice. Almost an accusation and yet not quite. A note of resentment? Or was it regret?

Leonie frowned as they sat down in the chairs placed before the fireplace. The Antivan brandy and glasses on the low table between their chairs was ignored.

"I am sorry, Loghain. I should have insisted on waiting for the Joining until I was home. It was unfair to have you do it."

Leonie stared into the fire. "I have several things to apologize for. As much as it pains me to admit such a thing, you were right about Duncan," she continued seriously, not looking at the man beside her.

"Indeed? I suspect we both have things we could have done better," Loghain replied with equal solemnity.

Leonie supposed that was as close to an apology from Loghain as she would ever get and she accepted it with a wry, "It would seem you learned how to apologize from the same tutor that instructed you on the ways of flowery compliments."

Loghain snorted. "From your tone I take it you think the tutor failed," he replied dryly.

"That is not for me to say, my dear Loghain. For all I know it was the student and not the teacher who was lacking," she retorted with a chuckle.

"Did you save up these insults while we were apart, just to use them all in one night?" he finally asked with a hint of a smile in his voice.

Leonie glanced over at him. The molten gold of the flames flickered and danced on his skin and she thought she had never seen him looking more contented. "Would you love me less if I said it was so?"

Loghain tipped his head, studying her, his eyes narrowed in contemplation. "I can't say with any degree of certainty, though I'm hardly surprised by your confession."

Leonie rose from her chair and came to kneel beside him, resting her cheek on his knee. "I missed you greatly, Loghain," she confessed candidly. His hand rested lightly on her head and she felt a finger caress her cheek.

"And I you, Leonie," he admitted quietly.

They remained there for long moments, enjoying the warmth of each other and the fire before Leonie yawned, the long day on horseback catching up with her finally.

"I see my company has you all aflutter," Loghain remarked drolly.

"In more ways than you can imagine," she responded as they made their way to bed.

It was so odd to Leonie, sharing the intimacies of their new quarters, preparing for bed together. She brushed her hair and then gave an exasperated sigh as it curled around her head, as wayward as ever. Tossing the brush aside, she moved to the bed and saw that Loghain was watching her with a small smile teasing his sensuous lips. She raised a brow at him, a silent query that he ignored. With a huff of indignation, she tossed a pillow at his head and he reached out, pulling her across the bed.

"Never attack without fear of the consequences," he warned, his voice deep, his breath warm, as he leaned down and kissed her hungrily.

Leonie thought the consequences were well worth it. They fell asleep in each other's arms some time later.

_She was in the Deep Roads, walking barefoot along the tainted stones. The voices beckoned her onward, whispered words that flowed through her veins, a song whose words she could not understand but felt compelled to discover. She paused, her heart beating with a frightening cadence in her chest. The room was cavernous, filled with thousands of darkspawn and they all chanted one word, over and over until it thundered through the room, through her blood. Proditio. She sank to the ground, her head screaming in pain, her blood hot and furious in her veins. "Proditio!" she heard herself yelling with them. The horde moved away, leaving her alone in the vast expanse of darkness and she began to cry, feeling small and alone in the emptiness._

_A jaguar came upon her as she sat there, a sleek and beautiful creature. "Come, little one," the jaguar invited in a voice that was oddly reassuring in its serenity. She walked beside him as he led her through the darkness. _

_She was in a forest glen, the anger receding, the tears sticky on her face as they dried. The moon sailed above them in full bloom, its light bathing the glen, washing over her in silver streams. Her rage was gone, her heart beating slowly and surely as she stood in the solitude of the night, once more herself._

"_You can find your own way now," the jaguar said and she nodded as understanding came to her._

"_Thank you," she murmured and watched the jaguar move into woods._

Loghain was still sleeping when Leonie arose. She slipped into her Grey Warden tunic and leggings, took her socks and boots, and made her way into their sitting room. She was still trying to remember the dream that had awoken her, a darkspawn dream and while not unusual, there was something more to it, something just beyond her vision, a gossamer strand of understanding that seemed to dance tantalizingly close but not close enough to recall.

"You were very restless last night," Loghain commented, lounging against the doorframe, dressed in a pair of trousers and sleep tousled hair.

"Darkspawn dreams," she replied, unwilling to give voice to the dream that still eluded clear memory but left her feeling uneasy and edgy.

"Ah," he said, coming to stand before the low burning fire. He stirred the coals and tossed kindling in. The fire responded with a crackle of life.

"I had the strangest dream a few nights ago," she added, frowning as that dream came into sharp focus. Odd that she could remember it so clearly and not the one that had so recently robbed her of her sleep.

"Aren't all darkspawn dreams strange?" he snorted, moving to sit in the chair beside her.

Leonie laughed mirthlessly. "Some are stranger than others," she replied and explained her dream from days earlier. As she told him about it, she saw his face pale. His frown, never far from view, affixed itself fiercely to his expression.

"What is it?" she asked after she finished and he reached out and took her hand, holding it lightly in his, a reassuring gesture unlike him. She found her mouth had gone dry as she waited with growing dread for him to speak. It was not his way to search for words, nor offer unexpected comfort.

"I had a dream that I was willing to pass off as just an aberration but I wonder if it really was something more after all," he said. "You were talking with a group of darkspawn, sitting in their midst as if you were their venerated leader," he said grimly. "I couldn't understand the language you were speaking, but they obviously could."

Leonie's voice deserted her as she sat trying to process what he was telling her. She finally raised her eyes to his and held his gaze. No ordinary darkspawn dreams. Portents? Or was it that their concern over her blood had influenced their dreams? She was perfectly willing to accept the latter as an explanation, the former being too frightening to contemplate.

"I – I cannot quite remember my dream last night but it left me unable to sleep," she finally uttered and was sorry the minute she had, as if giving voice to it made the dreams reality.

"I do not suppose there is anything further we can do about them at the moment," she added with determination in her voice. She almost believed it.

"I suppose," Loghain agreed with the same reluctance in his voice that she felt. He squeezed her hand and then moved to the bedroom to dress.

Leonie followed him, unwilling to be alone with her thoughts, which were both confused and confusing. She was afraid and if she gave voice to her fear, if she allowed it in, she would be unable to function. She was the Warden Commander of the Grey of Ferelden. She would not give in to her fear. She couldn't. But it was there, a hungry vulture ready to swoop in and pluck her calm from her with its talons.

Leonie watched as Loghain splashed water into a basin and began his morning ablutions. She had never known a man who shaved so religiously and she watched in fascination, her mind somehow calmed by the normalcy of it. Loghain paused, blade hovering along his jaw. He looked faintly surprised to see her sitting and watching him so intently.

"Have you nothing better to do than watch me shave?" he asked sardonically.

Leonie tapped her chin, pondering his question. There was much she should be doing she admitted to herself, but she was too content sitting and watching him, finding a certain peace of mind in his ritual. "Why no, I do not believe I do at the moment," she finally responded.

"One could almost feel sorry for someone with so much time on their hands," he remarked ironically, bringing his blade scraping along his jaw. She reached up to run a finger along it's now clean line. His skin was warm and supple under her fingers, surprisingly smooth.

"Does it pass inspection, Commander?" he asked dryly.

"Well, I suppose it will do, Warden," she retorted and then became entranced by a thin soapy trail that made its way slowly from his chin, down his neck to rest in the hollow of his throat.

"Maker, haven't you ever seen anyone shave?" he finally asked a bit impatiently and she laughed self consciously.

"As it happens, I have not, but since it seems to upset you so, I shall remove myself from your company," she responded with another self conscious smile.

"There's no need," he answered, rubbing a cloth over his freshly shaven face.

She knew that his impatience, the edginess in his voice stemmed from concern and frustration regarding their dreams and the mystery of her blood and had nothing to do with watching him shave. She was learning not to take it so personally. A small step.

"I assure you the novelty will wear off," she replied lightly. "Just as the novelty of watching me wrestle with my stubborn hair will wear off for you," she added with a teasing smile.

Loghain grunted, pulling a leather jerkin and trousers out of the armoire. "Madam, your imagination is second to none."

Making their way downstairs, they encountered Travis. Wearing a set of dark leathers, trimmed in spotted fur, he appeared even more compact than he appeared when wearing the armor of the Queen's Horseguard. And it was seeing him dressed that way that triggered her memory.

"You were there," she whispered, startling both Loghain and Travis. "You led me out of danger," she added, eyes widening as the entire dream flooded into her. She could almost feel the blood racing through her body to make its way to her face as the memory of her rage came to her.

Travis looked around and then met her eyes. "I guess that means it's time we talk," he said with a clucking sound.

"Yes, I think so," she agreed.

* * *

Sigrun was practically running to keep pace with Alistair. "Bloody surfacers and their endless legs," she muttered as she hopped over a rut in the road.

"Yes, it's my fault I have long legs and you have those little stubs," Alistair replied with a grin.

Sigrun tried to glare at him but it was taking all her energy to try and keep up. They were in a hurry because the news was grim and that was an odd thing to want to do, rush home with bad news. Good news she could understand, but why were people always in such a hurry to impart bad news? It wasn't as if it would change anything.

At least Alistair seemed to think it was bad news. She was pretty sure that Lion already _knew_ her blood had the same properties as the Architect's blood. And the power in her blood? Who knew what that meant since neither she nor Alistair were privy to the sealed report Avernus had given them. Besides, Sigrun reasoned, Leonie was the strongest person she'd ever met. It stood to reason that her blood reflected that.

Still there had been an ominous feeling hanging in the air around Avernus. It was difficult _not _to believe it was all doom and gloom in the report.

"You really think we can trust Avernus?" she asked for the twentieth time. Or perhaps it was nearing the thirtieth time by now, she'd lost track.

"Not about most things. But something to do with Warden blood? Oh yeah," Alistair said emphatically. Again. Same answer she received every time she asked. Hadn't someone once told her it was a sign of madness to keep asking a question with the expectation of a different answer? Yet she found herself doing it. She hated giving anyone bad news. That it was Leonie made her feel all that much more reluctant. Her steps slowed.

"Have you ever wondered why her blood is so different? I mean, do you buy all that fifth generation Warden stuff?" she asked, finally coming abreast of Alistair, who had come to a halt as he waited for her. She looked up at him from the corner of her eye, keeping the other on the road as they began to move again.

Alistair shrugged. "Who knows? A team in Weisshaupt has been working on it for years now and they don't' know. Anything's possible."

Sigrun fell quiet for some time as they continued onward.

"Wouldn't you think we would know more by now? I mean the darkspawn have been around for a thousand years or more. Who doesn't get to know their enemy fairly well in that time?" she mused and then laughed. "Guess communication with them is an issue."

"During a Blight you can almost understand them and some of the older Wardens claim they do understand them but there's no translation guide so who can be sure?" Alistair joked and then said more seriously, "It'd be nice to know how they really came about."

"You mean you don't believe your Chantry's version of their origins? A good little ex-templar like you?" Sigrun snorted.

"Yes, well, I was banished to the kitchens more than once for not buying into everything they said. I can wash a cook pot about as well as I can fight," he said rather boastfully.

"Oh, wow! That badly, huh?"

They were laughing as they came to the fork in the road that led to the Vigil. Alistair's long legs left her behind again and she was once again hopping, skipping and running to keep up. Always in a hurry to deliver bad news, she thought again.

"Nug humping, long legged, surfacers," she cursed under her breath and grinned as Alistair halted in his tracks, his neck suffused with red. With a wicked grin, he began to walk very slowly, so slowly that she easily passed him and she did so with a cheeky smile. It took him mere seconds to catch up.

"We're going to ruin her day if she's back," Sigrun said sagely as they hurried along the snow covered road.

"That's what I'm here for, to deliver bad news," Alistair joked.

"Sure, and all those witty one liners," she replied and then concentrated what remaining breath she had left on keeping up with him.

* * *

Once they were seated, and a tray of tea and breakfast had arrived, Travis began to speak.

"I am what the Chasind call a Dream Walker. You call us Shaman although you give us far more power in your tales than we actually possess," he began with a chuckle. "I am not a mage, and while I have some unusual abilities, it is communicating with nature and being able to connect with the animal spirits that give Shaman their healing and fighting abilities."

Travis was up and walking around Leonie's office with short steps, hands grasped behind his back, head tilted. He reminded Leonie of a crane she had once seen, his movements more birdlike than jaguar like at the moment. He seemed at peace, unflustered by her intense interest. Sparing a quick glance at Loghain, she saw that the words Travis spoke were not new. He had heard the story before.

"Long ago, before your Chantry or your Maker were known to mankind, our people and animals lived together, learned to speak the same language, could shift with ease between animal and human form. Those ways were largely lost when the Alamarri drove us to the Korcari Wilds over a thousand years ago. Now only a few of us are able to reconnect with the spirits of the animals."

Leonie struggled to understand, to comprehend so foreign a concept. Travis smiled at her rapt expression and she felt herself blush at his scrutiny. "You expect barbarians to be large and intimidating, no doubt," he said softly. "And not dressed in plate armor or carefully crafted leathers?" he guessed and her blush deepened.

"I confess I had such romantic notions in my head," she agreed, embarrassed.

"Tales told to keep young children from wandering into the mist, old superstitions to explain the inexplicable," he said with a clucking sound.

"Nearly ten years ago two of my tribe left in search of adventure. One of those two was what your people call a hedge witch. She was my mate. The other was her brother. I let them go, in hopes that they would return. She and I met in our dreams for weeks after she left and then one night she simply wasn't there. I went in search of her and found Loghain instead."

Loghain snorted at that. "Found is a rather kind way to describe that first meeting," he interjected dryly.

"I protected myself, nothing more," Travis protested good-naturedly.

"He fought with the strength of ten men," Loghain explained casually, as if such a thing was an ordinary occurrence. She wanted to hit Loghain for not telling her about Travis sooner. Not, she conceded mentally, that she would have believed him. It wasn't as though they had spent a great deal of time actually talking since she'd arrived home either.

"He was a jaguar in my dream last night," Leonie said into the sudden silence.

"So you've remembered your dream," Loghain broke in and Leonie told them both what she had felt and seen and heard.

"But I am most curious as to how you appeared in my dream," she finished, turning to look at Travis. His uncanny eyes pierced into hers. She was transfixed by the wisdom and compassion in them.

"My spirit form travels the Dreamscape each night, still searching for Cerida, my mate. I heard your distress and came to offer my guidance."

Leonie set her teacup down, feeling extremely uncomfortable with the idea of people visiting her dreams. "Can you enter anyone's dream?"

Travis chuckled. "No, nor would I want to. When you dream, your physical body stays at rest but your animal spirit travels. You call this the Fade, we call it the Dreamscape. The Dreamscape is shaped by a person's emotions and thoughts and is unique to them."

Leonie wasn't entirely reassured by that and still mightily confused. She had too many questions to ask and not enough information to form any coherent question.

"Sometimes the spirit becomes lost or calls out. Your spirit was calling out and I merely followed the sound. I can't see what you're experiencing, really."

Leonie shivered. She wasn't sure she understood the concepts and she wasn't sure she wanted to. The entire notion of animal spirits floating around in the Fade or Dreamscape seemed almost blasphemous and yet she wasn't really a religious type. Open mind, she kept telling herself, keep an open mind.

Travis clucked and came to stand beside Leonie's desk. "I felt your animal spirit's distress in a dream, Leonie. I can't see your dream through your eyes," he explained further. "I see only the animal spirit and hear it if it speaks."

"And I have an – an animal spirit?" she asked, trying to keep the disbelief from her voice.

Travis patted her arm and then whistled softly. "Most people do. Yours should be evident," he said finally. "But most people don't believe and if a person doesn't believe, they aren't going to see what's before them, are they?"

_Well that's probably true_. Leonie sighed and then thought back to another dream she'd had on her trip home.

"Can you shape a dream?" she asked, still torn between fascination and dismay at the thought of someone, no matter how well meaning, poking around in her head or dream or whatever it was he did.

"Only my own, why?"

Leonie blushed and looked down at her hands, which were drumming her desktop nervously. She clasped them and continued to look away. Before she could answer him or ask the countless other questions bouncing around in her overtaxed brain, Varel entered.

"Alistair and Sigrun's group have been spotted on the road," he announced.

Leonie was actually grateful for the interruption.


	24. Chapter 24

**A/N: **_A massive head cold strikes me down. The shame of it.  
A big thanks to __**icey cold **__for bouncing ideas back and forth all afternoon. Your perspective is always a help. Also a heartfelt thanks to those who continue to read, lurk and review. _

**A Cold Wind**

Anders cursed, a long string of words put to colorful use, as he stood trying to decide what to wear. A decision made more difficult by his utterly _unmanly_ wardrobe. He was a mage; he didn't need plate and chain. Except now, to impress a girl. Ugh. He couldn't believe he was even thinking those kinds of thoughts. Ser Pounce eyed him warily before making a complaint regarding the lack of attention he was receiving. With a hiss and mewl, the cat leapt off the bed.

"Oh sure, desert your master in his hour of need," Anders accused the cat as Pounce stalked off. That was a lie neither of them believed. He and Pounce knew who the real master was.

_Andraste's knicker-weasels_! It wasn't as if he was asking Aura to marry him. He was simply going to ask if he could…his mind boggled slightly. Could what? Court her? He was hardly the type to court and woo. He simply conquered and moved on. So why was this any different? Anders jammed his earring in and stood back. Because he really liked her. A lot. As in he loved her. With a groan, he looked in the mirror. He looked passable, not necessarily all that manly, but Lion thought he stood a chance and she hadn't misled him yet. Well, mostly she hadn't, he amended, thinking of all the times she had led them in the wrong direction.

Adjusting the silk cord of his robe, he stood back and examined himself in the mirror once more, making sure hair and robe were tidy. The worst thing Aura would do is let him down gently. Or laugh. Laughing would be bad. He couldn't imagine she would be that cruel, but he'd certainly been proved wrong before when it came to women. But then none had been like Aura, or even respectable in a lot of cases. Grabbing up his courage with both hands, he turned away from his image to go and find Aura. Anders yanked open his door and nearly walked into Jarren Tabris.

"Jarren! Maker's breath, what are you doing skulking around my door?" Anders asked, softening his words with a grin.

At one time the two men had been rivals for the affection of a lovely apprentice. She had turned them both down in favor of a senior enchanter but the two men had become friends and their friendly rivalry had continued through a series of conquests. After his last escape from the tower, however, he doubted Jarren still considered him friend or rival.

Anders was about to apologize when he felt the distinct bristling in the air, a current of magic. He didn't have time to react. Before he could quite comprehend what Jarren was doing, Anders was staggering back under a freezing blast of cold air. And by freezing, he meant literally.

"That's for using my escape plan and leaving me behind, you horse's ass," Jarren hissed, as cold as the ice now encasing Anders. "Consider it a gift. If I'd found you that first month, I'd have killed you," he added and then continued down the hallway as if he hadn't just frozen Anders solid.

It took a moment for Anders to warm himself up enough to move and even then he was shivering. He cast a minor warming spell on himself and looked down at his bedraggled robe, could feel the ice melting from his now lank hair. _Well, that wasn't entirely unexpected, I suppose_.

Anders went back into his room and started the process of deciding what to wear all over again. By the time he had changed and felt presentable Sigrun and Alistair had returned and Aura was busy. Anders went in search of Jarren and found him in the infirmary.

"Before you freeze me again, there's something I want to say," Anders began, holding out a placating hand.

"Let me guess. You're sorry you left me in solitary confinement while you went skipping off to smell the flowers?" Jarren said acerbically.

"No, that's not what I want to say. I mean, it is, but not the way you make it sound. I had an opportunity and I took it. Would you have done any differently?" Anders challenged. He took a deep breath and waited, watching as Jarren's tight lipped grimace smoothed out.

"I don't know. Maybe? I guess we'll never know for sure since you're the one who ran, not me," Jarren said a little less irritably.

"Oh you sanctimonious arse, you would have left me without a backward glance," Anders huffed and Jarren's mouth tilted up at the corners.

"The ladies didn't seem to miss you after you left. Reckon why that is?" Jarren snickered and the two men slapped each other on the back in a very manly fashion, to Anders's way of thinking.

"I really am sorry it turned out that way, but if you're smart, you'll join the Wardens. They actually like apostates and the templars can't touch you. It almost makes me want to go back to the tower and tweak old Irving's nose," Anders said with an evil grin.

"You should have seen what they did to Rylock," he added with a reminiscent sigh. "Best possible outcome," he finished with another grin.

As they headed to the dining hall, Anders decided that he would talk to Aura after the midday meal. What could a few hours matter? He slapped Jarren on the back again with a grin.

"Hit my back like that one more time and you'll be a chunk of ice floating in a river," Jarren threatened.

"Like I'm afraid of you? I dueled against another mage in a storm clash," Anders boasted, preening a bit.

"A storm clash?" Jarren asked, intrigued.

* * *

"Before you go, Leonie, I have a request," Travis said and grinned brightly.

Leonie paused and turned to look at him. It was impossible not to return his grin with one of her own, despite her being tense and anxious about the news, if any, that Alistair and Sigrun were bringing back from Soldier's Peak.

"Name it, my friend," she replied without hesitation.

"I want to join the Grey Wardens," he said and Leonie's grin faltered.

"Are you sure, Travis? There are risks associated with the Joining and your life, your very blood, is changed forever," she finally replied after the silence had grown uncomfortably long.

"I am aware of the risks," he said, his grin falling away and a serious expression taking up residence in its place.

"I am not sure you are, Travis," she began but he waved her words away.

"I know people die during the Joining. That they carry the taint of the darkspawn in their blood afterwards," he interrupted.

Leonie stared at him in surprise. "How do you know these things?"

She shouldn't have been surprised, not really. The man was unlike anyone she had ever met, he was the only Chasind or Dream Walker she knew. A part of her didn't want to put him through the Joining, was afraid he would die or worse, that a unique individual would become one more soldier in a never-ending war.

"Don't worry, little one," he said in a voice that was both calm and serene, his words echoing from her dream to this reality.

"I'm your guardian. I can't be your protector if I don't walk your path," he continued. At her look of disbelief, his grin returned.

"I don't expect you to believe my words, Leonie. You don't need to believe them. I do."

Leonie looked to Loghain who was watching the scene unfold as if he was watching a play. He met her eyes and nodded slightly. "He'd be a valuable asset," Loghain said succinctly.

Her pragmatic self rejoiced. He was a skilled warrior and a skilled healer. He was already a friend and more. He would make a wonderful Grey Warden. But her emotional self was not happy. She was afraid that by joining their ranks he would forfeit his life, his heritage. She found no joy in those thoughts. He volunteered and seemed aware of the risks and a year ago she wouldn't have hesitated. A year ago she believed, without question, that the Grey Wardens were the protectors of man. Now she saw just how grey the Grey Wardens truly were.

"I shall prepare the Joining for this afternoon, Travis," she agreed reluctantly. "We will leave for the Deep Roads in an hour," she added.

Loghain bristled. "Are you really sure that's a good idea? I'll take him into the Deep Roads," he protested.

Leonie made a sound that was part sigh and part chuckle. They had gone almost twenty four hours without an argument. It was bound to happen sooner or later. "I am quite capable of retrieving a vial of darkspawn blood," she reminded him gently but with a resolve in her voice that brooked no argument.

"As am I. As is Nathaniel. Or any of the other Wardens," Loghain said coolly, ignoring the resolve in her voice, or blind to it. Leonie wasn't sure. "You are the Commander. Surely you've better things to do," he added.

"I shall bring Karlin and Darius with me. I would like to test their skills," she continued calmly.

"Stubborn chit," he muttered darkly, words meant for her ears alone.

"Irascible man," she replied with a twinkle in her eye. One day he might capitulate without saying a word. One day.

Standing in the great hall, greeting Sigrun and Alistair, she took the sealed missive from Alistair's hand, surprised that Avernus would have already discovered something. It seemed unlikely that it would be all that important, given he had only one night to examine the blood.

"Food," Sigrun muttered. "I need food," she added after she and Leonie had exchanged hugs and delight in seeing each other again.

Of course they gathered in the dining hall. They were Wardens and when in doubt, when upset or happy, when _awake_, Wardens ate. Aura was already sending in platters of cold meats and cheeses, fruits and breads.

Leonie made her way to Darius and explained that they would be going into the Deep Roads to retrieve blood for a Joining. Jarren spoke up, effectively silencing the others.

"I would like to join the Grey Wardens as well."

Leonie's head snapped around to look at the mage. "That is not necessary, Jarren," she began and then stopped. Why was she discouraging people from joining the Wardens? Wasn't that one of her primary missions? Rebuild the Wardens of Ferelden? Yet here she was trying to dissuade not one, but two, excellent candidates.

"Then you shall join us to collect the necessary darkspawn blood," she said.

Excusing herself, with the excuse of changing into her armor, Leonie went upstairs to her new quarters and sat down at a desk, carefully breaking the seal.

_Warden Commander,_

_I am too old to play games. The samples were a test of my abilities, no doubt. Grey Warden blood but different from most, as you undoubtedly already know. Have the Wardens finally formulated a new Joining? _

_The raw power in the samples amplified my blood magic to a degree I was never able to achieve through my own research. Well done. _

_More surprising is the way the blood samples interact with each other. Fascinating._

_Additional information and further samples are needed to continue my research. I assume I passed your little test. _

_Avernus  
Senior Warden of Ferelden _

Looking up as the door opened, she saw Loghain crossing the threshold and quietly handed the letter to him.

"At least now I know why the Nevarrans and the Orlesians are so interested in my blood. How odd that they should even know of it. It does beg the question of how they came by the knowledge before I did, does it not?" Leonie asked grimly.

"They don't _know_ anything, Leonie. They think they know something and they aren't even sure what that something is," Loghain rebutted with a logic that did little to calm her emotions.

Leonie shook her head, stubbornly refusing to believe his words. Someone knew something, men had been sent to bring her back to Orlais. Doing so on a mere rumor seemed unlikely. "Avernus seems to agree with the others."

"This letter offers little in the way of new information. It's foolish to put too much faith in one man, Warden or no," Loghain chided.

"I have no reason to believe he would lie, Loghain," she remonstrated just as quietly, staring down at the letter.

Loghain was right. Avernus had been cagey in his note, reporting nothing and implying a great deal. It wasn't as if they didn't already know her blood was somehow important to people. The reference to the blood samples interacting was intriguing but she couldn't help but feel played by the old Grey Warden.

What had Svanar hoped to accomplish with her blood? With _their _blood? He had been a mage and if her blood was so powerful, why hadn't he put up more of a struggle when they finally met? Why hadn't he simply used her blood to power his spells and kill them all? If his blood was equally powerful, why hadn't he used it to control her? He had tried but she had broken the spell easily enough. Had he not really put forth the effort? Why had she been able to kill him so easily? What had he really wanted her for? Was it, as he had intimated, to produce the offspring of a new hybrid race or something else? What had he said when they finally came face to face?

_"You know the truth. It is in your blood. You are like me, Leonie. We are special. I became a darkspawn and then I discovered the secret within my blood. I became more than a human and more than a darkspawn. Listen to our blood, feel it, Leonie. It is the same," he whispered. "Do you hear it singing its own siren song?"_

What had he meant by that? More than a human and more than a darkspawn? The same blood, but why? What purpose did it serve? Was it tied into her strange dreams? She hadn't had time to read Svanar's journal, hadn't even opened it and she needed to, that much was clear.

"Are you going to actually voice any of those thoughts you're having?" Loghain asked, his voice equal parts impatience and amusement.

"After the Joinings," she agreed with equanimity.

Rising from the desk, she moved to pull out her heavy padding and began to change. Loghain seemed quite content to watch. She pulled her padding on and then began to buckle into her plate.

She remained silent as she went about the task, her mind grinding through a list of problems. She was intent on figuring out the mystery of her blood, but she had so many other items to attend to she wasn't sure quite where to begin. Avernus and his news seemed just one more detail that would get pushed aside when some big crisis needed to be averted. She had been so busy reacting, she hadn't had time to act and she found it frustrating and unsettling. She needed to take back control of her life.

"I think perhaps Jarren and Avernus should work together, yes?"

"Only under supervision," Loghain finally answered.

"That is a wise idea. The question is do we bring Avernus here or take Jarren there?" she queried.

"Bring Avernus here. I don't trust him," Loghain said quickly.

"Bringing Avernus here will not be easy. We shall have to send the cart for him. It is a perilous journey for one so old," she mused aloud. "And he has a laboratory, according to Alistair. We do not. It appears the more logical solution is to take Jarren to Soldier's Peak," she countered.

Loghain looked thunderous. "Don't ask for my opinion and then dismiss it out of hand," he said stiffly. "If the mages do the research here we don't lose precious time running back and forth."

Leonie blinked, surprised by his words and even more by his sudden anger. "I do not dismiss it out of hand," she replied. "I am trying to reason through this."

He looked less than appeased. "Don't think for a moment that you should be the one to go there either. If you decide the research needs to be done at Soldier's Peak, let someone else go. He is a blood mage who, according to his own account, summoned a wealth of demons to help defeat King Arland's forces. If your blood is as powerful as he claims, why give him that kind of weapon?" Loghain argued, inexorable.

Leonie nodded. His argument was logical. But she wasn't sure she wanted to put the Vigil in danger. There were over two hundred people living in and around the Vigil now and if the research yielded unexpected results she didn't want to endanger those people. Soldier's Peak, from what she had learned, was remote and had fewer than thirty people in it at any one time.

"And by bringing him here the same thing will be accomplished, yes? Unless you propose I move to Soldier's Peak?" she asked with a wry smile.

Coming to help her buckle into her heavy plate armor, Loghain said only, "Let the old bastard try."

As she was pondering what might go wrong with the research, a thought suddenly occurred to her, a cold rush of wind to her heart.

"Svanar told me that our blood together was a siren call. I did not quite know what to think of that but…" Leonie trailed off and felt the first spark of fear flicker inside her.

"Blessed Andraste! If that is true, Avernus may have inadvertently signaled to the darkspawn," she whispered and the flickering spark of fear became a flame.

"Maker, what have I done?" she asked, horrified.

"You haven't done anything and you don't know that your blood has done anything," Loghain reminded her sternly, tightening the buckle of her cuirass snugly.

"We need to know, Loghain. We need to know," she whispered, pushing her fear and horror as far away from her as she could. It wasn't far enough. Her hands were shaking as she reached for her gauntlets.

"The Joining will have to be postponed. Let the others know, Loghain."

"Leonie, you're overreacting," Loghain began to protest but she stood tall and straight, gathering her steely determination about her like a second set of armor.

"Please tell Nathaniel and Anders to meet me at the barrier doors," she instructed, and was surprised by how calm and even her voice was. "Have Anders pull a vial of Svanar's blood, explain what we are doing."

"Yes, Commander," Loghain said quietly.

The weight of her heavy plate was a comforting sensation as she gathered her weapons. She found her hands had stopped shaking and her nerves had steadied by the time she pulled her sword from the weapon stand. Svanar had been driven mad by his own taint and his re-emergence on the other side of it. Everything he said should be treated with suspicion. Or so she kept telling herself as she made her way back downstairs.

They were waiting for her at the barrier door. "If we do not return within four hours, reset the barrier doors, destroy Svanar's blood and let Weisshaupt know what has occurred," Leonie ordered Loghain.

"It won't come to that," Loghain replied with conviction and she loved him all the more for his absolute belief that they would return.

"In that case, I shall see you at dinner," she murmured with a reassuring smile and then turned and stepped into the Deep Roads. She would not allow herself to look back.

The sound of the heavy steel doors grinding into place made Anders shudder. "I hate that noise. It's so _final_," he complained.

"I shall have the workers add feather ticking, yes?" Leonie replied and there was an easy familiarity between the three of them that made the burden easier to bear as they walked further into the shadows of the Deep Roads.

"When we have gone a safe distance, we shall mix the blood together and wait. If nothing happens, we can laugh at this over dinner," Leonie said. Continuing, she added grimly, "But if I sense large numbers of darkspawn heading in our direction you are to return to the doors as quickly as possible. Understood?"

"You mean all three of us, right?" Nathaniel responded with a disapproving frown on his starkly handsome face.

"I mean that you and Anders are to be concerned with getting yourselves back to the Vigil and warning the others," she replied curtly.

They had not gone far when they encountered a small scouting party. The four genlocks were quickly dispatched and blood gathered for the Joining ritual. They came across several small bands of darkspawn and Leonie found she relished the battles, was oddly disappointed that the skirmishes ended almost before they began. She collected another vial of darkspawn blood for Jarren's research and handed it to Anders.

"Just how did the first Grey Wardens know about the ritual?" Anders asked, staring at the vial of blood he was holding. "I mean, do you suppose they just experimented until they got it right?"

In all her years as a Warden, and even before, as a child of a Warden, it had never occurred to her to question the Joining or how it came about. She had been told, as many Warden children were, of the heroic deeds of the first Grey Wardens. She had never been told specifics. She wasn't sure if anyone actually knew.

"I am not sure, Anders. I know only what the legends say," Leonie admitted and the more she thought about it the more curious she became. How had they come by the knowledge?

"Well, don't keep us in the dark," Anders said, laughing at his own wit.

Nathaniel groaned at the pun but added, "I'd like to hear the story."

"The first Blight had been raging across the lands for nearly a century, with no end in sight. An entire generation of people gone and the new generations that followed knew nothing but war and savagery and destruction. The devastation was enormous. Despair and death were all people knew and hope was gone from the lands.

"A group of Tevinter warriors gathered at Weisshaupt, a war council determined to find a way to stop the Blight upon the land. During that meeting, they discovered the ritual we now call the Joining. They renounced their oaths to the Imperium and took new oaths, to protect the lands of man, no matter the cost. These were the first Grey Wardens.

"They rode into battle on the backs of snowy griffons, each Warden single-handedly killing scores of darkspawn. Hope was reborn and more and more men and women of every race joined the ranks of those first few warriors. For one hundred years the Grey Wardens battled, never giving in, until they finally defeated Dumat, the Archdemon, and thus ended the first Blight."

Leonie had grown up on that tale, grown up listening to the heroics and sacrifices of the Grey Wardens and it was, as she was reminded now, in her own blood. She smiled sadly, remembering how proud and honored she had been when she took her own Joining, remembered how worried Duncan had been, how her mother had cried. And now she wasn't sure any of it was even real, if the stories were just myths and something darker, more sinister was true. Was the discovery of the Joining ritual just one more Grey Warden secret?

"Are you alright, Lion?" Nathaniel asked in concern, breaking into her unhappy thoughts and sending them skittering into the dark where Leonie was content to let them go.

"Yes, of course. But as you see, I have no idea how they came upon the ritual. Perhaps it was more that the ritual came upon them. Perhaps they had taken in so much of the taint during their battles that it called to them all and they found themselves meeting there only because their blood sang to each other. Just was ours sings out to each other now, yes?"

"Well, that makes sense. Or at least as much sense as someone just stumbling on the right combination of lyrium, Archdemon blood and darkspawn blood. Anything else is too scary to think about," Anders agreed.

They had gone far enough, Leonie determined and she stopped them. "Anders, hand me Svanar's vial," she instructed quietly. Taking the vial, she uncorked it and knelt down, spilling only a drop on the ground.

"Now, a small cut. I want very little blood," she said, holding up her finger. Nathaniel withdrew a small knife and made a shallow cut on her finger. The first drop spilled near Svanar's blood.

"Andraste's knicker-weasels, is that blood moving?" Anders yelped in astonishment.

Leonie watched as both the drop of Svanar's blood and her own began to slowly move toward each other. "There must be a depression in the ground," she whispered because that was the only explanation her mind could come up with.

"Step back," she ordered quietly, wrapping a bandage around the cut on her finger. She felt Nathaniel pulling her to her feet.

They watched with a fascinated horror as the blood moved to unite and when it did, it gave off a golden-red glow, a faint but perceptible light before winking out and becoming just a dark red blot on the pale limestone floor.

"Holy Maker," Nathaniel said in a hushed, reverential tone.

Leonie agreed as she moved them back another step. It was then that she heard it; a high, sweet song, beguiling and softly yearning. "Do you hear it?" she breathed, awed by the beauty of it. Mesmerizing and hypnotic. Enchanting. It seemed to fill the small area where they stood, reverberating off the walls, swirling around her, in her.

"Hear what?" Anders asked, cocking his head to one side and listening intently.

As suddenly as the song started, it stopped and Leonie found she had developed a splitting headache. "You did not hear anything?" she asked, frowning and rubbing her temples. The headache was intensifying, making her nauseous and dizzy.

"I didn't hear a thing," Nathaniel confirmed.

Leonie sank down to the ground. "Anders, my head is about to split apart," she began and before she could finish speaking a cool, soft caress of magic was massaging away her pain. But no sooner had the pain been whisked away then it returned, sharper, more painful. A stabbing sensation behind her now closed lids.

"Anders?" she asked with a groan. "Please," she mumbled, resting her head on the cool stone floor.

"We need to get her out of here," Nathaniel urged, pulling Leonie to her feet.

She was dazed, aware of little as they hurried back to the barrier doors, overwhelmed with pain and a strong sense of disappointment. Had Svanar's obsession with her blood been nothing more than a need to hear the song of the Old Gods? Was that what she had heard?

"It is as though we have found a key but no knowledge of what it unlocks," she finally said aloud.

Nathaniel, still holding her arm tightly as he led her back to the Vigil, said nothing. Anders was equally silent. What was there to say? Her blood joined with Svanar's had glowed briefly and she had heard something no one else had heard. It sounded ridiculous in her mind; she could imagine how ludicrous Loghain would find it.

They were nearly back to the barrier doors before her headache finally eased, but her thoughts were as jumbled and confused as ever. Something had happened, something inexplicable and real. Rather than answering questions, it seemed only to provoke more. How _had_ the Wardens stumbled across the formula for the Joining? Why had Weisshaupt still not found answers to any of the questions she had entrusted them with about her own blood? Surely they were the experts.

With a grinding and gnashing of metal on metal, the barrier doors opened. She was reminded, even in the gloom of her disappointment, that they had answered one question. Her blood, when mixed with Svanar's, did not produce a siren that the darkspawn found irresistible. That was good news.

"Does anyone else think it's strange that we didn't encounter any darkspawn on the way back?" Nathaniel asked as they stepped into the cellar.

A cold wind blew through Leonie as the barrier door shut.


	25. Chapter 25

**Running**

Leonie turned to Nathaniel with a puzzled frown. "You are quite right, Nathaniel. Where were they?" she asked in voice gone shaky with the realization that there had been no hint of darkspawn on the way back to the doors.

Anders shrugged, looking faintly anxious. "I didn't even sense any, now that I think about it," he chimed in.

Loghain frowned. "What happened?"

Nathaniel spoke up as Leonie found herself momentarily at a loss. What had happened? Blood did not move on its own, did not give off a faint glow. She rubbed her temples as she listened to Nathaniel's grim recounting of the events. They had encountered groups of darkspawn as they made their way from the Keep and none on their return trip. Was it simply that they had cleared them all on their way out, leaving none remaining for their return? That was certainly possible, she supposed. Yet she had not felt a single darkspawn on the way back, not one. She could not recall a trip into the Deep Roads when she hadn't felt the relentless pull of blood that meant darkspawn were nearby, even if the pull was more of a suggestion because the darkspawn were far away. She had _always_ felt some indication of their presence. Until the trip back to the barrier doors.

Loghain was standing in front of her, studying her with his shrewd blue eyes, waiting for a response to a question she had clearly not heard. She blinked and gave a shrug, embarrassed that she had missed what he'd said.

"What did you hear that the others didn't?" he asked, impatience edging the concern in his voice, making it obvious that he had asked the question more than once.

What _had_ she heard? A fleeting song, so beguiling she had felt the need to put down her weapons and listen, to follow it, and yet somehow it seemed to have come from within her own head. Words she could not comprehend, wrapping around music that was as sweet and mystifying as the Choir of the Divine's chant but unearthly in its beauty.

"I do not know, Loghain. My head started aching so fiercely that I cannot be sure," she whispered the lie and wondered why she had not just told him.

"You must have some idea," he persisted, his scowl settling comfortably into familiar lines.

Leonie scrubbed at her temples, the remnants of a headache tapping impatiently at her brain. She was vaguely aware that Nathaniel and Anders were staring at her as well, all of them waiting for an answer. What did she say to them? Even in her own mind the answer was too frightening to contemplate, too outlandish to be true. And her fear, her confusion, must have shown on her face because Loghain's hands were on her shoulders, light and comforting. A reassurance that he was there, that they would face the truth together. Easy for him to feel reassuring, it was her mind that was breaking, not his. Because surely that must be the explanation. She was going mad.

"A song. I heard the most beautiful song I have ever heard," she finally said and the words, once released from their prison, served to lessen the fear. "The sound of a choir, words I could not understand," she continued in a rush.

She wouldn't look at any of them, keeping her head lowered as she stepped away from Loghain's reassuring touch and began to make her way to the Keep. Mad. Or worse, her Calling coming to her. She didn't speak those words, did not want to give them credence and so they remained thoughts and fears to be kept under lock and key for the moment.

"Now, we have a Joining ritual to prepare for, do we not?" she added over her shoulder. _Maker, let me get through this Joining_.

The Wardens gathered in the throne room and Leonie watched as a slightly nervous Jarren and a very serene Travis came to stand before her. She nodded to Varel, who handed her the chalice. Loghain was standing on her right, offering a silent, solid presence, lending her the strength to begin the Joining. Her talk with Anders and Nathaniel while they were in the Deep Roads, along with her experience there, left her feeling unusually unsure of herself and the Grey Wardens, a feeling that was as foreign as it was unwelcome.

Now was not the time for second guessing her life choice. She pushed the thoughts aside, concentrating on the two men standing before her. She stared down at the mixture of lyrium, darkspawn blood, and one drop of preserved Archdemon blood. The question of how the first Wardens had discovered it rose up again; a specter rising from the mist that momentarily robbed her of speech.

She became aware of the nervous shifting of her Wardens as they waited for her to say something. She looked at each of them solemnly, took a deep breath. Whatever the future, whatever the past, darkspawn threatened mankind. That fact was indisputable, undeniable. That had not changed, no matter what else may have. The two species could not co-exist, it was not just against their basic natures, it meant a painful death to those who would try. Her duty stretched out a beckoning hand to her. She cleared her throat and began to speak.

"Over twelve hundred years ago, when the world stood on the brink of annihilation, men and women of all races joined together to protect the lands of mankind. They sacrificed everything to do so. We honor their sacrifices by joining their company, by performing this sacred duty. As long as there are darkspawn who spread their foul taint, there will be Grey Wardens, protecting all that we hold dear.

"Join us brothers and sisters. Join us in the shadows where we stand vigilant. Join us as we carry the duty that cannot be forsworn. And should you perish, know that your sacrifice will not be forgotten. And that one day we shall join you.

"Jarren Tabris, I call upon you to submit yourself to the taint and join us as a Grey Warden," she finished solemnly, handing Jarren the cup.

His fingers were surprisingly steady as he brought the chalice to his lips and drank deeply. Loghain moved quietly to stand behind him. A deep shudder ran through the elf mage, followed by a stifled cry as he clutched his throat. Leonie found she wasn't breathing, that her heart was beating too quickly as Jarren fell backward, eyes rolling.

Loghain lowered him to the ground and nodded. "He'll live." A relieved sigh swept through the gathered Wardens, none louder than her own.

"Travis, step forward and join us, Brother," she said and held the chalice out to him. Her hands were trembling slightly and he gave her a sympathetic smile, adding an odd reassuring clucking noise to it. "From this day forth, you are a Grey Warden."

With a slight bow, he lifted the chalice to his lips and drank. Leonie took the chalice and forced herself to continue watching as he gave a low growl and sank to his knees. One eye seemed to remain on her and the other shut is a macabre wink as he shivered. He curled up after a brief hesitation and both eyes closed. In all her Joining ceremonies, she had never seen a reaction quite like that and she moved quickly to kneel beside him, searching for and finding a strong, rapid pulse.

"He lives," she breathed, relief rushing through her like water through a floodgate.

Guards entered to carry the newest Wardens to their rooms. The others milled about, as if waiting for her to dismiss them. She should debrief them. They needed to know about the trip into the Deep Roads. She should be preparing for a journey to Soldier's Peak. She should be writing to Fiona demanding to know what, if anything, they had discovered after so many years of research. She should go to Weisshaupt and oversee the research, dig into the massive archives there and see what she could learn. And somewhere, in the deepest recesses of her heart, was a sudden, real fear that her time might somehow be running out.

"I will see you all at dinner," she said finally, when it became apparent that nobody was leaving until she said something. They all began to disperse and she made her way to her quarters. Loghain joined her.

"You look exhausted," he commented as they started up the stairs.

"Why thank you, I believe that is a step up from 'terrible', is it not?" she teased, resting her hand lightly on his arm.

"Yes, I suppose it is at that," he agreed with a wry smile.

They continued up the stairs and to their room in silence. Leonie began to feel herself relaxing as they moved down the hallway with its thick carpets. Maybe they could postpone the interrogation she knew was coming from Loghain. Maybe they could just have a few moments of undisturbed peace.

"Are you going to tell me what's going on in that mind of yours? You seemed preoccupied throughout the Joining. Perhaps you could start with your thoughts on the trip into the Deep Roads? They are obviously troubling ones," he asked once they were in their quarters. His smile from earlier, wry and amused, seemed to have gone missing.

He looked grave and grim and Leonie found herself unwilling to discuss such serious and dark thoughts. She felt the rebellious spark in her that had so often confounded her parents when she was a child. She wanted a day, perhaps two, where nothing untoward happened, where she and Loghain could just spend time in each other's company and let go of their day to day concerns. No matter how unrealistic it was, she never-the-less wanted such an experience. He cleared his throat, waiting for her to respond. She didn't have to look at him to know he was impatient and probably scowling.

Leonie made her way into their bedchamber and began unbuckling her armor. When the silence became too heavy and before it became acrimonious, she took a deep breath.

"I do not wish to at the moment, Loghain. Tonight I would like to _not_ think," she replied, moving to join him, wearing only the thin shirt and trousers that she wore under her armor's rough padding.

"Maric used to do that too," Loghain began and at her raised brow, he continued, "Ignore problems and difficulties, as if by doing so they would simply go away. He passed that particular trait on to his son. It never ends well, Leonie. We must attend to reality," he rebuked quietly.

Reality? What was reality? In her mind, reality, impossibility and improbability all seemed to be fighting with each other, with reality being the most severe casualty of the war. Leonie sighed. "And so we shall, Loghain, when I am ready. Tonight I am not."

"Do you think running from it will make it more tolerable? Less true?" he asked in a slightly mocking voice. He was sitting in one of the chairs by the fire and he leaned back, scowling once again.

They hadn't had much to celebrate lately, nor much time together. She rolled her neck, stretching the tension out of her shoulders. She studied their new quarters, their _shared _quarters. An unexpected and touching gift from Loghain. Was she running? Perhaps. But what she wanted was time to revel in the gift, in the new closeness they had discovered but every blasted thing in their lives conspired against such a notion. She thought the world would not end if they took just one evening to themselves.

It was then that she remembered she had a gift for him as well, one that was still locked in the trunk that was now sitting in a corner of their shared bedchamber. Loghain would, no doubt, think it a childish and foolish thing, to offer a gift when there were so many issues to discuss, when they were both concerned about what had transpired in the Deep Roads. Leonie hesitated for a long moment and neither of them spoke. He was obviously waiting for her to capitulate. She would not. If she had to beat him into submission, they were going to let go of their worries for at least one evening. If that was running, so be it. She would run, if only for one night.

"I have something for you, Loghain," she stated, a smile beginning to form on her lips and lighten her heart. "You must close your eyes," she instructed. Of course he balked.

"We're not children," he groused. She rolled her eyes at him.

"Honestly, Loghain, I do not believe you were _ever_ a child. I believe you sprang forth, fully grown, from the loins of a mule. A very stubborn and taciturn mule," she added for good measure, coming to stand beside him.

Loghain snorted. "Ah, more Orlesian tactics. Insult the enemy into compliance."

"Absolutely devious and cunning and apparently not working," she retorted and then continued, "Now close your eyes or, as your commander, I shall order you to do so."

She heard his impatient growl as she went into their bedchamber. After finding the key to her trunk, she opened it and then carefully pulled out a long, rolled parchment before making her way back to his chair. Sitting down gently on the arm of the chair, she placed the rolled parchment on his lap.

"You may open your eyes now," she instructed and then folded her hands, suddenly nervous. It was the first gift she had given him. What if brought unhappy memories? What if he hated it?

She stood up and moved to the fireplace, picking up the poker and stabbing at the ashes, which remained cold and gray and would have laughed at her for her poor attempt at reviving them had they been alive. She glanced over her shoulder at Loghain. It was foolish to feel nervous about a gift, for Maker's sake. She had so many other real concerns, what did it matter if he liked it or not?

He was studying the untouched parchment as if it might bite him at any moment. "It is a gift, Loghain, not a Blight wolf," she chortled, putting the poker down. He appeared more nervous than she was and she took courage from that.

"It is the custom, in Orlais, for one to open a gift," she commented, softening her words with a smile. "Do Fereldans have a different custom?"

Loghain began to unroll the parchment and then made an inarticulate sound that might have been a grunt or a sigh or something else altogether. Leonie wasn't sure. She was, however, quite certain of his surprise.

"A map of Ferelden," he uttered and frowned. He fell silent for a moment, as if to gather his thoughts. "From the occupation," he continued, his voice low and unsteady. She wasn't sure if that was good or bad. She found she was clutching her hands rather tightly as she waited for him to continue.

She watched as one tapered finger traced along the borders of a parcel of land. The map was a patchwork of small, oddly shaped parcels. It was an assessor's map and had all of the Ferelden freeholds marked on it. The map had been used by the Imperial Assessor to levy the tribute taxes each year.

"This was," he began and cleared his throat, "This was my family's farmhold," he said, his voice strangled by emotion as his fingers continued to trace the borders. "How did you come by this?"

"My love, one does not ask where a gift comes from," Leonie chided tenderly, resting her hand on his shoulder. His expression softened as he continued studying the map. He glanced up at her and then back at the map. She resisted the impulse to ruffle his carefully brushed and braided hair.

Loghain's long fingers continued tracing the lines on the map. "I remember the summer we put up the stone fence in the pasture. A very hot summer," he began, his voice lost to a memory. "My mother came down to the pasture with honey cakes and cold cider. I was ten, nearly eleven. She was singing and my father stopped working just to listen to her," he continued, steeped in the memory now.

Leonie settled once more on the arm of his chair and listened intently, trying not to intrude on his memory. It was only the second time he had ever mentioned his family and the first time had been so painful for him. This, at least, seemed a happier memory.

"She gave me quite a scolding for taking my shirt off and letting my skin burn. It hurt like the dickens but I wouldn't tell her that. She made a poultice of chamomile and buttermilk that night," he continued. "She said the Maker had made me suffer enough for my foolishness."

Loghain leaned back, his eyes closed. "You are like her in some ways," he whispered gruffly.

Leonie waited for him to continue and when he didn't, she offered helpfully, "Beautiful?"

"Stubborn as a mabari," he replied, opening his eyes. They were shimmering silver in the low light. He was not crying, she knew, but he was very emotional, different from the night he had told her about his mother's death, but every bit as intense.

"Ah, so that is where you inherited it," she replied softly.

"My father was just as stubborn, it's equally likely I inherited it from him, as I did my coloring and my unfortunate nose," he replied dryly and then straightened up. Leonie leaned over, kissing the tip of said nose.

"I don't know how you came by it, but I thank you," he said quietly, with such heartfelt sincerity that Leonie felt the sudden bite of tears in her throat.

"Perhaps one day you can take me there, if the memories would not be too painful," she replied when she could trust her voice not to quiver. She watched as he carefully rolled the map and set it aside.

"Yes," he agreed, pulling her onto his lap and staring deeply into her eyes, searching for something. She wasn't sure what he saw but he seemed satisfied, pulling her close and letting his eyes drift shut.

"How did you come by it?" he asked again a moment later and she buried her face into the curve where his neck and shoulder met.

"You will only laugh if I tell you," came her muffled reply. She let her lips wander along the warmth of his neck.

"All the more reason to tell me now that you've piqued my curiosity," he commented, turning his head slightly as her lips continued their journey up to his jaw.

Leonie gave a little huff of feigned indignation. "I am as stubborn as a mabari, as you have recently pointed out, Loghain. I do not think you shall wrest the information from me," she teased, continuing her assault on his neck.

"Diversionary tactics?" he asked, his voice deepening as her fingers joined the assault.

"Will they work?" she whispered, her lips brushing against the sensitive shell of his ear.

"Without a doubt," he replied in a husky voice, launching a counter-assault with his hands and mouth.

Later, as they were dressing, Loghain came to her under the guise of lacing the back of her gown, but he bent his head, his lips brushing softly along her ear. "You are," he said softly, his voice a warm tickling breeze along her skin.

"I am?" Leonie inquired, leaning back against him. "I am what?" she asked, a soft moan escaping from her as his lips traced a path along the column of her neck.

"Come along, we're late for dinner," he replied maddeningly, stepping away from her abruptly.

His yelp, when she poked him in the ribs, gave her a quiet sense of satisfaction.

* * *

Anders was pacing the hallway outside Aura's private quarters. Ser Pounce was following him, tail in the air and Anders was fairly certain the cat was mocking him.

"Cheeky furball," he muttered and then before he could talk himself out of it, he rapped lightly on the door.

He heard the shuffle of a chair being pushed back and light steps and he wondered in a brief blind moment of panic if it was too late to run. But of course it was. Entirely too late. Aura opened the door.

"Anders, this is a surprise. Was there something you needed?" Aura asked in her sweet, softly accented voice.

You. I want you, he thought and then heard himself say, "I just wanted to make sure the mother-to-be was doing well."

Aura's smile was wide and lovely and caused a dimple to dance in her cheek and for a minute, Anders was completely mesmerized by it. "You are so kind, Anders. I'm well. Would you like to come in for a cup of tea?"

He hesitated. He had been running his entire life. He had run from his magic, from the templars, from the tower that seemed like a prison, from the templars again, from responsibility. Somehow, in becoming a Grey Warden, he had started to realize that running wasn't necessary all the time. Standing in front of Aura, he found he didn't want to run anywhere.

"A cup of tea with a lovely woman? Absolutely," he said with his usual breezy charm. An internal flinch later, he added honestly, "I'd really like that, Aura. Thank you."

It was tempting to slip into that effortless flattering banter; it had become so easy to hide behind the carefully constructed façade of the charming lady's man. Aura made it much easier for him to be himself, to open up and be honest. The hours ran away from him and it wasn't until he saw her smother a yawn that he realized how late it was.

"I'd better go, I didn't know it was so late," he mumbled and stood up so abruptly he knocked his chair over. He was pretty sure she was laughing at him. Why wouldn't she be? He was a big clumsy ass after all. If he was the blushing type, like Alistair, he would no doubt be a painful shade of red now.

"I'm sorry, Anders. Don't take it personally. The baby just seems to demand I sleep more than I am used to," she apologized. "I enjoyed this evening very much."

Anders, hand on the door, stopped and turned. "Enough to want to do it again?" he asked and there was another internal flinch at the ridiculously hopeful note in his voice.

"I'd like that," she said shyly.

It was too soon for a kiss, he knew that. But she was certainly looking kissable, all soft and sweet in the lamplight, with her big blue eyes and her…"Oh, right. Good night then," he said as he stepped out into the hallway. He turned to face her again, wondering what the protocol was for taking his leave of her. Should he bow? Kiss her hand? Just leave? That seemed a bit anticlimactic. She solved the problem for him.

"Good night, Anders," she whispered and reached up on the tips of her toes and kissed his cheek.

Well that didn't go half bad, Anders decided smugly as he made his way up to his room. Not half bad at all. He was still grinning like an idiot when he climbed into bed. Ser Pounce gave him a haughty stare and ignored him. Anders returned the favor.

* * *

Travis waited and watched in the shadows of her dream. She was traveling in the dreamscape, in a happier place for the moment, and he listened to the sound of her animal spirit, watched as it ran free and wild. He was relieved, for he had seen what could come to pass while in his own dreamscape.

Those who thought the future was immutable and unchangeable would be surprised to see the constant shaping and reshaping of it as circumstances changed; choices, emotions and a person's will dictated an ever shifting landscape, as mercurial and ever-changing as clouds tossed in a stormy sky. In her future's present state one would betray her, one would die for her, two would travel to distant lands for her and one would break her spirit, leaving her trapped in an empty shell.

He could do nothing to alter her future, only she had the power to do that, through her choices and free will, through the strength of her spirit and the courage of her heart. He could, however, stand watch over her animal spirit and her physical form.

His own future bade him do so.


	26. Chapter 26

**Promises **

Morning arrived with dazzling promise. The sun reflected off the snow with blinding good cheer and Leonie felt the curve of a smile dancing on her lips as she looked down at the scene. She was tempted to go and play with the children who were in the near pasture, building snow forts and hurling snowballs at each other with such carefree abandon. Reality, in the form of her ever-pragmatic Second, had other ideas.

"Are you ready to talk this morning?" Loghain asked, coming to stand beside her.

"Good morning, Leonie. Did you sleep well? I enjoyed our evening together. You were quite right in suggesting it. You look lovely this morning," she responded, deepening her voice and doing her best to imitate his dry tones.

Loghain's chuckle was brief and dry. "Shall I leave so you and your imaginary friend can have a private conversation?"

"Odious man," she replied without heat.

"Willful child," he rejoined.

"Really, Loghain, must you always have the last word in every discussion?" she asked, moving away from the window and beginning to dress.

"Yes," he replied simply, moving to do the same. She didn't know whether to throw something at him or laugh.

He quirked a brow as she began to buckle into her heavy armor. "Are you expecting trouble today?"

"I am going into the Deep Roads this morning. It is never wise to wear a gown to such a place," she replied calmly.

"I see. And you think that's a wise course of action, do you?" Loghain's voice was flavored with cool disapproval.

"I think it is a necessary course of action," she replied firmly.

"Indeed?"

Further discussion was temporarily halted by the arrival of breakfast. The servant, as if sensing tension, was quick to depart. Leonie poured tea for them and began to eat, refusing to be goaded into a discussion or argument about the wisest course of action. Loghain seemed disinclined to drop the matter.

"Are you planning on telling me the reason for this _necessary_ course of action?" he asked, skewering her with a probing stare.

Sighing, Leonie pushed aside her half eaten breakfast and nodded. She leaned forward, fingers tapping a nervous, disjointed beat on the tabletop. Loghain reached out and stilled her fingers, resting his hand firmly on hers.

"I have never, in all my years as a Warden, been in the Deep Roads without feeling the pull of darkspawn until yesterday. I felt them on our way to the site where we mixed the blood. I did not feel them on our way back. Not one single darkspawn. I do not know how that is possible," she explained, trying unsuccessfully to keep the emotion from her voice.

Loghain studied her, his expression pensive. "Isn't it possible you cleared out any scouting parties on your way to the site and that's why you didn't encounter any on the return?"

"Yes, of course it is possible, but have you ever been in the Deep Roads and not felt even the distant pull of them? I would think it was just me, I was upset and feeling ill from the headache, but neither Nathaniel nor Anders felt their presence."

"Are you suggesting that combining the blood somehow drove them out of the area?" he asked, incredulous.

She gave an unhappy laugh. "It does not sound plausible when you say it in that manner. Or even possible. I have no answers, Loghain, only questions. I do know that I need to go back into the Deep Roads today. I need to see for myself if the darkspawn are there or not."

Leonie felt the faint beginnings of a tension headache and she rubbed the back of her neck where muscles were already knotting.

"We must bring Avernus here, or take Jarren to Soldier's Peak. And we must be very careful about combining the blood samples until we understand what truly happens," she answered.

Full of restless energy, she stood and went to the window. The children were gone now. The sun had retreated behind an iron grey wall of clouds, the wind an indifferent companion. She leaned her forehead against the cool pane of glass.

"Avernus must come here. I do not like the idea of it but it makes the most sense," she decided without turning around.

"There is something you're not telling me," Loghain said, faintly accusatory.

Leonie took a deep, steadying breath. She wanted to be calm and logical, wanted to keep her emotions in check but they seemed determined to find an outlet in her voice. "I heard the song that heralds the Calling. Yet it is not my time. The taint within me still advances slowly. Either I am wrong about the song I heard or I am wrong about my taint. Which do you suppose it is?" she asked softly.

"We'll find the answers and then we'll deal with them, no matter what they are," Loghain promised with such strength of conviction that Leonie felt a faint flicker of hope, a small ember caught in the cold ashes of a dead fire.

"You are right, Loghain. And there is much that needs to be accomplished while those answers are being sought, yes?" she replied with forced cheer, turning to face him with a smile that wobbled at the edges. She sat down again, reaching for her tea only to find it had gone cold.

* * *

"Harmonic resonance," Jarren said briskly. "Tharoneus the Mystic wrote a treatise on the harmonic resonance between blood and magic," he explained, kneeling down to examine the spot more closely.

"I do not understand," Leonie said, also kneeling down.

Jarren, Loghain and Travis had accompanied her into the Deep Roads. To her relief she had felt the nagging pull of distant darkspawn and she would never have believed herself capable of feeling relief at such a thing. Still, they had encountered no scouting bands on their way to the site and that was a rare, though not unheard of phenomenon. Loghain seemed to think so as well, by the look of his furrowed brows.

"It's a rather complicated theory. He postulated that blood vibrates; a harmonic resonance that can attract blood and magic. He was a magister, no doubt trying to explain why blood magic is so much more powerful than other types of magic," Jarren explained, his voice just short of condescension. "I have also read theories that lyrium sings. It seems reasonable enough to believe blood does as well."

Travis clucked and knelt down beside her. "You're saying that the reason her blood and Svanar's blood moved to each other is because it called to each other?" he asked, disbelieving. Leonie thought it was the most ridiculous thing she'd ever heard. And the creepiest.

"Yes, in part. It would also explain why Avernus, a blood mage, found such power in Commander Leonie's blood. Of course, until I begin my own research, I can't say for sure what properties the blood has. Still, it's rather fascinating, isn't it?"

"Alarming is a better word," Travis said and then looked at Leonie apologetically. She smiled.

"Do not worry about alarming me, Travis. I have lived with this mystery for almost ten years now," she reassured him as she stood up.

"You said you heard a song after the blood joined?" Jarren asked as they made their way back to the Keep.

"Yes," Leonie admitted, remembering the terrible beauty of it.

"That could be the harmonic resonance," he contemplated. "Fascinating," he repeated raptly.

"Yes, we understand you're fascinated," Loghain began in clipped tones but Leonie put a restraining hand on his arm.

"I am sure, were this a military strategy of some sort, or a new weapon, you would be equally fascinated by it just as Jarren is by this situation," she murmured. He gave her a look of disbelief but said nothing further.

Once they were back in the warmth of the Keep, Leonie turned to Jarren. "You are not to mix the samples without my permission, Jarren. Whatever you think it might be, we cannot be sure and cannot take a chance. And remember, Svanar's blood supply is finite. When the samples we have are gone, there is no way to obtain more." Leonie's voice rang with authority and Jarren nodded.

"You have my word, Commander," he responded. "Will we also have his journals to study?"

"Yes, but I wish to look at them first. I will get them to you as soon as I am finished."

"I'd like to read them too," Travis said, giving Leonie a grin in response to her expression of surprise. "I'm your guardian. I need to know," he said with a soft cluck. She made a mental note to talk to Loghain about Travis and their past, promised herself to speak with Travis at length about himself. Now was not the time.

"As would I," Loghain added.

"Fine, you may both examine them as well, but I do not want their contents brandied about," she finally agreed only to have Travis chuckle and Jarren snicker. Loghain was looking elsewhere.

"Andraste's grace. What is it?" she asked impatiently, arms folded.

"Bandied," Loghain began. To his credit, Leonie saw he was trying to hide his amusement.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Bandied about," he said and Travis chuckled again.

"Unless you mean to soak the pages in brandy," Jarren agreed.

"Thank you," she said sarcastically before going in search of Alistair.

* * *

"With her? Are you serious?" Alistair asked, running his hand through his carefully coifed hair and sending it into wild disarray.

"She is in need of a guiding hand and you are one of the only Wardens whom she tolerates. You have an issue with her?" Leonie asked, genuinely curious.

"You mean other than her being a complete and utter bitch? No, none at all," he grumbled sarcastically.

Leonie laughed as she patted his arm. "You are the only one besides Jarren that she responds to at all. It is important that she feel comfortable with her fellow Wardens, Alistair, you know this, yes?"

"Know it, yes? Like it? Not so much. But I'll do it," he added with a martyred expression on his boyish face.

Leonie bit back another laugh. He looked as though he was being sent to the gallows. "I shall find Karlin and inform her, yes? Better she blame me than you, I think. And I will send Sigrun along as well. She will brighten the trip for you."

Karlin was in the training room, a pair of matched daggers in her hands, shredding a practice dummy. Leonie stood to the side and watched intently. The young woman fought with the kind of wild abandon that dealt large amounts of damage but left her vulnerable. From what Loghain and Tamra had told her, Karlin was slowly improving. But she was still a danger Leonie noted, as the young woman kicked out at the dummy, both arms at her sides leaving herself open for attacks from all sides.

"Had I my weapons, you would be dead," Leonie remarked, stepping into the training ring.

"I doubt that," the cocky elf returned. "But you're welcome to try, Commander," she added, putting a sneering emphasis on Leonie's title.

"You would do well to watch your tone, Warden," Leonie said, a note of warning in her voice.

"Yes, Commander," the girl replied with marginally less vitriol.

"You will be traveling to Soldier's Peak with Senior Wardens Alistair and Sigrun tomorrow. I suggest checking your supplies for cold weather gear. If you have need of anything ask Varel for the key to the supply room," Leonie instructed, meeting the young woman's glare with a look of quiet authority.

"Yes, Commander," Karlin replied again, her voice now completely devoid of any emotion or inflection.

"Alistair is in command and you are to obey his orders just as you would mine," Leonie continued. "I do not wish an unfavorable report upon your return."

"Yes, Commander."

"And I will be happy to spar with you once you are back. Our styles are not too dissimilar," Leonie added more kindly as she made her way out of the training room.

Sigrun, curled up in the Keep's library with a book, looked up with a cheery smile that slid away when she heard that Karlin would be accompanying them on their return to Soldier's Peak. She stood, hands on hips, giving Leonie a scowl that twisted the young dwarf's tattoos into very interesting shapes. Leonie bit back a smile.

"She puts the 'gloom' in doom and gloom, Lion. She makes me feel miserable," Sigrun complained good-naturedly. "Might as well have us take the 'doom' in doom and gloom too."

Leonie allowed a sympathetic smile to cross her features, giving Sigrun a hug. "I take it you mean Darius?"

"Who else? The man is so depressed, he's positively depressing," the dwarf sighed dramatically.

"Well perhaps a week in your company will cheer him up as well. I shall send him along," Leonie said.

"So all that drivel about us being sisters and all was really just a ruse to get me to like you and do whatever you say," Sigrun groused and then looked at Leonie with her brilliant blue eyes alight.

"But if I can't cheer them up, they are beyond hope. I accept your mission, oh great one," she added with cheeky smile.

Leonie was laughing now, the weight of her problems sliding off her shoulders, replaced by Sigrun's absolute optimism and faith in people. "Thank you, Sigrun. You are the light that shines in a dark night," she told her friend sincerely.

Sigrun blushed. "You don't have to keep buttering me up, I already said I'd do it," she said with a grin. "Not that I mind, of course."

Darius was more than happy to be included, stating that sitting around inside a gloomy stone building was not what he'd had in mind when he volunteered to become a Grey Warden.

Curious, Leonie asked, "Why did you volunteer?"

Darius looked uncomfortable and then with a shrug of his shoulders, explained, "My clan had a treaty which obligated them to help the Grey Wardens in times of a Blight but Keeper Marethari decided to leave instead of honoring it. My father was the Keeper before her and he would have honored such a treaty. To ignore it brings dishonor to our clan. Keeper Marethari disagreed. I left my clan to assist where I could."

Leonie was surprised by his words, by the depth of his commitment to assisting during the Blight. "I am honored that you would leave your clan to join us," she said sincerely.

Darius looked at her, his grey eyes holding hers with an intensity that she found unnerving but she held his eyes and remained still.

"I accept your words, Commander, and pledge to honor my commitment until the end of my days," he responded gravely.

Finally alone in her office, Leonie pulled out several sheets of vellum and began to write.

_Warden Avernus,_

_You are to report immediately to the new Warden headquarters at Vigil's Keep. Bring what you deem essential to continue your research. Senior Warden Alistair, Warden Sigrun, Warden Darius and Warden Karlin will provide escort._

_Do not delay and do not make the mistake of believing this to be a request. It is not._

_Leonie Caron  
Warden Commander of Ferelden_

_

* * *

_

_Eamon Guerrin  
Arl of Redcliffe_

_Arl Eamon,_

_After a discussion with Alistair, we have agreed that he is not yet ready to be reunited with you. He hopes that you understand and that you accept his decision. _

_If you have any questions, please address them to me and I will endeavor to answer them. I appreciate your concern for Alistair and assure you that he does continue to mend._

_Leonie Caron  
Arlessa of Amaranthine  
Warden Commander of Ferelden_

_

* * *

_

_Teagan Guerrin  
Arl of Denerim_

_My dear friend,_

_Alistair is most eager to visit with you but he has no wish to travel to Denerim. Needless to say you are correct in his unwillingness to visit with your brother, the Arl of Redcliffe. I will not force the issue as he is making great progress in healing. Given Arl Eamon's reasons for wanting to visit Alistair, I am relieved that it was Alistair's decision not to see the Arl._

_I offer you the hospitality of Vigil's Keep so that you may visit with Alistair and I look forward to seeing you again._

_Leonie  
Arlessa of Amaranthine_

__

_

* * *

_

____

_Senior Warden Fiona  
Weisshaupt Fortress_

_Fiona,_

_I am truly disheartened by your lack of correspondence. Surely after so many years you have made some headway? Please send me a detailed report of your research as I am beginning a research project here as well. I will be most happy to share any results much in the way you have shared your results. _

_On a personal note, your son continues to recover and shows great strength of character. It is truly a shame that you are not here to witness it. You would be proud of him._

_Leonie  
Warden Commander of Ferelden_

* * *

_Lady Nila Gilmore  
Hunter Fell_

_Dear Mama,_

_It was such a wonderful surprise to see you. I extend a heartfelt invitation to you and Roan to visit Vigil's Keep and meet the Grey Wardens. They are an interesting and varied group, as you can imagine, and very dear to my heart._

_Your counsel and wisdom have helped me reach a happier place, Mama, and for that I thank you. We never see ourselves quite as clearly without help, do we?_

_I trust you and Roan continue in good health and I look forward to hearing from you. Please give my regards to Roan._

_I remain your most loving and appreciative daughter,_

_Leonie_

_

* * *

_

_Her Royal Majesty  
Anora Mac Tir Theirin  
Queen of Ferelden_

_Your Majesty,_

_I thank you for the use of your Horseguard on my recent travels. Ablett, Winslow and Travis all served with great distinction and I found no evidence to suggest any of them had foreknowledge of the attack mentioned in my previous correspondence. _

_Travis elected to undertake the Joining and is now a member of the Grey of Ferelden. It is my understanding, in talking with my Second, that this will not come as a surprise to you. I trust it will not, in any way, damage our mutual cooperation or your continued support for the Grey Wardens._

_Under separate cover you will find Alistair Theirin's signed Declaration of Renouncement to any and all claims he has upon the throne of Ferelden. I trust this alleviates any concerns you might have regarding his continued service to the Grey of Ferelden._

_Leonie Caron  
Arlessa of Amaranthine  
Warden Commander of Ferelden_

_

* * *

_

Tucking Svanar's journals under her arm, Leonie climbed the stairs with a tired sigh. Loghain looked up from his place by the fire, setting his book aside.

"If you are going to tell me I look terrible or exhausted, please do not put yourself to the trouble," Leonie pleaded, setting the journals down and coming to drop a kiss on his brow.

Loghain snickered, his eyes flashing a golden blue in the reflected firelight. "Then it seems there isn't much to say," he replied, catching her hand and resting it against his cheek.

"Did you at least eat dinner?" he asked, his snicker replaced with a look of concern.

"Yes, at my desk. Did Nathaniel and Tamra get back from Amaranthine?"

"No, they sent a messenger that they were staying over with Delilah."

"Maker, what I would not give for a few nights away as well," she sighed.

"You aren't going to start reading those journals tonight, are you?" Loghain asked, finally noticing the journals she had placed on her desk. She removed her hand from his and smiled a bit defensively, stepping away from him.

"I had thought to start them, yes," she began but he came to stand behind her, pulling her gently into his arms. She rested her head against his chest with a weary sigh.

"There will never be enough hours in the day, will there?" she asked tiredly.

"Never. And no matter how hard you work, how late you stay at your desk, there will always be more to do."

Leonie chuckled. "At least you are honest."

Loghain gave her a dry smile. "Faint praise indeed, madam."

"And said with a full and loving heart," she replied, turning to kiss him lightly on his lips. He responded with vigor and it was another few moments before she could breathe again.

"I love you, Loghain Mac Tir," she affirmed, smiling tenderly at him.

"As I love you, Leonie Caron," he replied, his voice low and rich and warm against her skin. The books were forgotten as she wound her arms around his neck.

A very pleasurable hour passed before Leonie remembered the journals sitting unopened on her desk. Loghain was sleeping; one arm, bent at the elbow, flung over his head. His face was relaxed, a small smile lurking at the corners of his mouth, his hair spilling across the pillow like dark strands of silk floss. She dropped a soft kiss on his mouth and crept quietly from the bedchamber.

After she placed a log on the fire, she turned up the lamp and sat in her chair, the journals on her lap. She opened the first journal. Old, stained, with pages torn and tattered, the words appeared to be gibberish, not words at all but scribbled nonsense. Leonie leafed through the entire journal with a frown of disappointment. Turning to the last page, her heart stopped and then began to beat too quickly and loudly in her chest. The hair on her arms stood up. One word, written over and over and over until it filled every inch of the page. A word she had heard in her dreams.

_Proditio_.


	27. Chapter 27

**Spider Webs Within Mazes**

Leonie's disappointment was so intense it was a physical pain in her stomach. She had put such faith in the journals, believing they were the key to unlocking the secrets of her blood. What a fool she had been to think so. What a naïve child to hope for such a thing.

And it didn't matter, she thought bitterly. The answers didn't really matter at all. What mattered was her duty to eradicate darkspawn and protect the lands of men. For as long as she was alive, she would perform it. Yet her fingers lingered on the moldy leather cover of one of the journals as if she could, by will alone, make it speak to her.

There were words there that she had heard in her dreams. And they meant as much to her now as they did in the dream. Her first moments of horror when she saw them in the journal had given way to frustration at the lack of anything substantive. What wasn't outright gibberish and scribbling were long passages written in ciphers that made no sense to Leonie. There was the occasional entry that was written in the common tongue but so cryptic it was impossible to understand the meaning behind the words. Throughout the journals was a single word written over and over and over again. In a language that was foreign to her. She had written the words down, trying to make sense of them and felt utterly mystified. There were five in all.

She stared down at the open journal at the passage she had marked. The handwriting was filled with loops and swirls and the page was blotched and blotted and it made no sense to her at all…

…_The blood is the key. The blood is always the key. Spider webs within a maze, each fragile strand a mystery. Unravel the web and the answer remains. Her song, her mystery. My song, my mystery. Together, a different mystery but an answer. I believe…_

Did the Architect mean their blood was a key to deciphering the journal entries? The key to a bigger mystery? She hissed in exasperation and sank down in her chair to rub her temples wearily. The hour was closer to morning than night. She felt the weariness creeping into her bones like the mist in a marsh. She stared at the journal that lay open on her desk.

"You think if you stare at it long enough you'll find the answer, do you?" Loghain asked with an arched brow. He was lounging in the doorway looking cool and unflappable and wearing only his trousers. Leonie thought she must have dozed off. She blinked and rubbed her eyes. Was it already morning? She closed the journal.

"I am dreaming, yes?"

"No. You _should_ be dreaming," he admonished, pushing himself away from the doorjamb with one broad shoulder. "I'm here to make sure you do."

Leonie remained seated, mulish, jaw thrust out. "I thought I was going to finally learn what secrets are in my blood. I have learned only that I am impossibly foolish," she mocked herself, twisting away from his penetrating stare.

She heard Loghain's long, drawn out breath. "You are being foolish now, I will agree," he said quietly, holding his hand out. "Come to bed, Leonie. If there are answers to be found, they will be there in the morning."

Instead of taking his hand, she opened a journal to a passage she had marked and read it aloud…

…_Too little. It was my wish to help. More blood is necessary but too late for It. I should have killed It when It was sleeping. Mercy is a perplexing concept. Freedom from the song should have been a mercy. How did they know to create It or the others like It? Another strand, another mystery..._

"Enough, Leonie," Loghain said forcefully and she heard very clearly the former general of Ferelden's armies in his voice.

"You know why I must find the answers," she responded softly, tears beginning to form. "We both know and yet we do not discuss it." She blinked the tears away.

"Nor will we now," he replied firmly, lifting her bodily out of the chair and into his arms. "Now we sleep."

Realizing how tired she was, Leonie finally gave up the struggle and simply nodded as she rested her head against his shoulder. There would be no great secrets revealed or mysteries unraveled just because she wanted it to be so. She curled up against Loghain. His heat and strength flowed through her, reached into her tired muscles and relaxed them, soothed her troubled mind. He held her close, settling them down into a nest of blankets. Warm and drowsy, listening to the rhythmic beating of his heart, she fell asleep.

_She was standing amongst them, could hear their heartbeats, feel their breath on her. She could feel the hatred that was spilling into the air they breathed. Hideous creatures, twisted, tainted, tormented. So tormented it pulled at her heart and she was horrified to find herself sympathetic. How could she feel even a moment's pity for them? Compassion for the enemy meant death on a battlefield. _

_Leonie began to quietly move through the crowd until she stood apart from them, watching from a distance, trying to regain control of her emotions. They were chanting now, their guttural cries growing steadily in volume as more and more took up the call. _Ultionis_. They moved as one entity. They moved toward her, they could see her even in the dark. _

_She was running down unlit passageways, turning and twisting through a maze of underground tunnels but they were following her, so closely that she could almost feel their tainted breath on her neck. She ran until her breath was coming in great gasps, her sides screaming for her to stop but if she did they would overwhelm her, devour her. She turned down a long, dimly lit passage and ran headlong but still they pursued her. _

_Another turn and she was in a room, a vaulted cavern that had exits in every direction, a dozen or more to choose from. She hesitated, just long enough for the creatures to surround her. _

_Her mouth opened to scream but no sound emerged…_

* * *

He left the heavily wooded environs of his own dreamscape at the first sounds of her distress. The Korcari Wilds faded as he moved further away from them, further away from his people. His tribe was moving southeast, away from the stained and dead earth. The heart of the blightstorm, Leonie had called it. He would travel with her when she went to cleanse it but for now he needed to find her and guide her back from her nightmare.

She was not easy to find, her spirit prowling restlessly in the darkest shadows on the edges of her dreamscape. He wished that he could step into her dreamscape. It would give him more insight into her nightmares, into her dream knowledge, the information she gleaned from each dream that did not make it to her waking state.

The only time he had actually tried to enter a dreamscape he had lost Cerida's spirit animal in the process and he still had not found either the spirit animal or his mate. There were no more dreams, no more visits, no shared visions. His heart knew the truth but he refused to believe it, refused to give up hope.

When he approached Leonie, she growled, a menacing and ominous rumble that seemed to echo in the thickening mist. He crept forward with slow, sinuous grace, imbuing each move, each thought, each sound with serenity. She was frightened by something, suspicious and hostile. She continued to pace uneasily, eyes watchful and wary.

"Come, little one. The light awaits us," Travis beckoned in a voice both mellifluous and honeyed, meant to sooth.

The lioness roared and swiped at the jaguar and continued her agitated pacing. Travis smiled as he stretched and settled down on the hard ground near her. "I'm not going without you, little one," he asserted tranquilly.

The lioness stalked him, moving in ever smaller circles as she sniffed and growled at him. Her eyes were as blue as a summer sky, guarded and full of misgiving. He nodded, holding out a paw. She sniffed at it and sighed, the tension slowly released from her as she continued to circle him.

"You won't find answers in the dark, Leonie. There is only pain and sorrow there. Come, little one. Come and help me find the falcon. He is nearby."

The lioness blinked her blue eyes slowly, tilting her head, her gaze filled with curiosity. Travis was relieved when she began to follow him away from her dreamscape. With luck she would find a new dreamscape without ever waking. Had he the ability, he would lead her into the falcon's dream. All he could do is lead her to Loghain's spirit animal and let her own spirit do the rest. When they found the falcon she sighed wearily and laid down near it, curling up and resting her head on her folded paws before falling into a restful sleep.

Travis moved through the shadows and disappeared into an emerging dreamscape.

* * *

The city and port of Amaranthine looked far better than Nathaniel had expected. The recovery after the darkspawn attack was nothing short of astonishing. He let his eyes fall on Albert Beechem and he smiled at his brother-in-law. A nondescript man with light brown hair and light brown eyes, pale and bookish, he was a man who noticed even the smallest detail and it was that eye for detail that had helped shore up the defenses of the city in time to avert a massacre.

"The Jewel of the Arling," Nathaniel uttered, standing on the battlement wall and surveying the city and the tall masts in the harbor. A watery sun, almost white with cold, hung limply in the morning sky. The wind shifted and swirled around the two men as they made their way down the stone steps and along the cobblestoned streets.

"Aye, she'll do," Albert agreed, pausing briefly to watch the bustle of a busy market.

"When Commander Leonie first decided to make Delilah the bann, I thought she'd lost her mind. What did either of you know about running a city or bann? I stand before you a humbled man," Nathaniel concluded warmly. Albert's pale cheeks pinked at the praise.

"It's Delilah's doing. She learned more than she wanted to admit watching your da. She's fair deft with the people and I've learned that it takes more than keeping ledgers to keep the bann in good stead," Albert admitted modestly.

There was such warmth, such love in the way Albert spoke of Delilah, as if she was the only thing in his world that mattered, that made sense. When Nathaniel had first learned of Delilah's marriage to a shopkeeper he had wanted to kill the man, to grab his sister and save her from the degradation and squalor that must surround her sordid life. Instead, he had learned how devoted Albert was to Delilah and how adoring she was of her "Albie" as she affectionately called her husband.

"I suppose we'd better get back before Delilah and Tamra send out the guard," Nathaniel commented and they began the walk back to the estate.

"You'll let us know if you hear any talk of Commander Leonie or if any Orlesian or Nevarran ships enter the port?" Nathaniel asked. It was a question he had asked several times in the course of his visit.

"Aye, Nathaniel. " Albert replied patiently. "The only talk we hear about Leonie is good. Folks here think she's a hero, Orlesian or not."

Nathaniel was pleased to see the genuine affection people seemed to have for both Albert and Delilah. He was embarrassed to be included in that. He had been away for so long, had contributed so little to the new prosperity of Amaranthine, that it seemed wrong somehow. Albert stopped to talk to a merchant and Nathaniel made his way up the steps that led to the Chantry so that he could get an overview of the city.

He noticed, with a wry smile, that someone had returned the statue of his grandfather to its original place in front of the Chantry. He wasn't sure if that was Delilah's doing or Leonie's suggestion but he suspected it was Lion's. Delilah was too modest and self-effacing to request such a thing. He reached out and touched the hard granite, cold from winter's grasp. Nathaniel Howe felt, in that brief touch, a freedom from Rendon Howe's traitorous, treacherous life. An unexpected lightness of being came to him, remembering the shadow of a monster but standing in the shadow of a great man, knowing his family's name was once again respected, at least among the people of the arling.

He was still standing there when the call, originating from the western watchtower, sounded. The western watchtower, tasked with marking the passage of ships sailing from the western stretches of the Waking Sea. Nathaniel found himself racing along the newly cobbled streets, pulling out his spyglass.

"Ship, sailing in from the west, northwest, flying the imperial colors of Orlais! Looks like a caravel from the Imperial Fleet!" the captain of the watch yelled.

Nathaniel raised his spyglass and finally located the ship. From the lateen sails on the three masts and the sleek, narrow build he knew the boat was designed for speed and rarely carried more than couriers and a small contingent of soldiers. Albert was already issuing orders and the barracks snapped to life as men began to don their armor.

"Looks like we won't be heading back to the Vigil quite as early as I'd hoped," Nathaniel told Albert.

"I've sent a messenger on ahead to Vigil's Keep, just to be safe," Albert reassured, coming to stand beside Nathaniel.

Nathaniel stood on the wharf, waiting for the ship to dock. Tamra stood beside him, weapons at the ready.

* * *

The first three journals proved of no value and Loghain was tempted to toss them into the fire. He said as much out loud. Leonie, fingers curled tightly around her mug of tea, protested. "Because they are gibberish to us does not mean they are of no value."

Loghain raised a disbelieving brow at that pronouncement. If by value she meant that they had caused her to have nightmares, then by all means, they should be kept. Maker knew the normal Grey Warden nightmares were repetitious and downright boring at times. He was not foolish enough to voice his thoughts.

He watched Leonie carefully. She stared down at the vellum beside her, where she had carefully written five words. She had spent half the night going through the journals line by line hoping to find answers and she had found only five words and a few passages that weren't either encrypted or mere scribbles and squiggles that went on for pages and pages. Loghain's frustration threatened to choke him.

"The only sensible thing he says in all this rubbish of his comes in the final sentence," he growled, picking up the journal and turning to the last page. "We believe whatever lies we're fed because it is easier than seeking the truth." He had certainly seen enough of that in his lifetime to know it was true.

Leonie stared at him, setting her mug aside with deliberate care. "He says of himself that after the transformation his mind was shattered and broken. It is hardly surprising that his words make little sense at times," she rebuked quietly. He stared at her, appalled to hear her defend the creature that had stalked her for a decade.

"You aren't seriously feeling badly for that _thing_?" he asked, incredulous.

Leonie frowned thoughtfully. "I think he was once a fellow Warden, a brother. What he went through was horrific. It is no wonder he became obsessed with finding someone who he thought was like him. We all want that, Loghain."

"The difference is most people don't kidnap that _someone_. They don't experiment on them. They don't drain them of their blood and they bloody well don't start a Blight that kills thousands of people!" Loghain reminded her vociferously. He was confounded by her foolish notion that the Architect was anything but a monster.

"Feelings and emotions are not always black and white, Loghain. I feel pity for the man he once was, nothing more," she said stiffly. "The human heart is no less a spider web within a maze, as well we both know," she added.

Leaning forward, Leonie bit her lower lip, her anxiety sudden and sharp. "I have to try and understand him because there is a very real possibility that I will become him," she whispered, looking away.

At a loss for words in the face of her concern, Loghain stood, staring into the fire. "I won't allow…" he began only to be interrupted by Leonie's fingers resting lightly against his lips.

"You may not have a choice. I may not have a choice. Do not make promises you may not be able to keep."

Before he could reassure her, before he blurted out that he would do anything for her, even conquer the Fade if she asked it of him, a preposterous and sentimental notion, a knock interrupted him. He was both relieved and frustrated.

"Enter!" he called irritably, tossing the journal back onto the table where it landed with a dull and dusty thud.

"Travis," Leonie greeted warmly, going to the man. She wrapped her arms around him and, whispering something that Loghain could not hear and watched as Travis, clucking, nodded rapidly.

"He came to help me out of my nightmare," she explained, turning to Loghain with a smile.

He had known Travis for years, had come to understand he was a shaman who possessed unusual powers, had been of great help to Loghain on a number of occasions. However, there was something jarring about knowing he was helping Leonie in her dreams, that he had taken the Joining and seemed to have completely given himself to protecting and guarding Leonie. Watching the two of them, he saw a bond that was surprisingly strong for two people who hadn't even known each other three weeks ago. He didn't begrudge the relationship, or even Travis's help with the nightmares. He scowled. What he minded was feeling so Maker damned helpless, he realized.

She would skewer him if she ever suspected how protective he felt about her at times. At times. Loghain snorted derisively. All the time. And it wasn't as if he didn't respect her prowess as a warrior, or her abilities as a commander. He saw her as a peer, a warrior and commander of equal ability. He couldn't protect her, he knew that, but it didn't stop him wanting to. A vicious voice reminded him that, in the end, he hadn't been able to protect Maric or Rowan or Celia. His mind flashed briefly to Ostagar and Cailan and how little he had done then to save his king. He had done what he believed best for Ferelden. Would he do the same if Leonie became a darkspawn or worse?

The thought was as cold and bitter as the winter wind blowing outside.

**A/N**: _Several people have asked about the spirit animals and what they represent and their abilities. These are based on shamanistic practices from various tribes and cultures. It took the longest time to find the right spirit for Loghain.  
__Travis's spirit animal __is a __jaguar__: able to see the roads in chaos, able to see patterns in chaos, moves without fear in the darkness, moves in unknown places, is a shapeshifter and has psychic sight. Represents the balance of power, the balance of light and dark. Wise, brave, judicious.  
__Leonie's spirit animal__ is, of course, a __lion__: extremely strong family ties and strong bonds of brotherhood, represents pride, strength, courage, leadership and guardianship, fiery and passionate. Metes out swift justice and can be willful.  
__Loghain's spirit animal__ is a __falcon__: n__atural born leader, takes action to do what must be done when others won't. Represents power, liberty, freedom and determination. Without a supportive relationship becomes vain, rude, intolerant and impatient; surprisingly devoted in a supportive relationship._


	28. Chapter 28

**A/N:** _I want to thank all those who have continued to read Leonie's story and especially those who have favorited, lurked, and reviewed. Your encouragement is an amazing gift and one I am truly thankful for._

**On A Winter's Morning**

"This is Duncan's shield. I – I recognize it from the compound. I thought he must have taken it to Ostagar," Alistair breathed, running reverent fingers along the edges of the silverite shield with the enameled griffon. He looked at Leonie, clearly touched and nearly speechless. She smiled encouragingly at the young man who had worshiped Duncan.

"It _was_ his shield. Now it is your shield. He would be proud to see you carry it, Alistair. I know he would want you to have it," Leonie assured him.

Alistair stared at her, his eyes warm. "I – thank you, Commander," he finally said in a voice thick with emotion. Leonie hoped he wouldn't cry; she knew if he did she would as well and there was no time for tears. She patted his arm lightly and stepped back.

"I think you have more than earned the right to carry his shield, Alistair," she told him seriously.

His smile was engaging and boyish. "This is a bribe, isn't it? For taking Karlin and Darius with us?" he asked knowingly.

Leonie laughed. "Not at all, Alistair. A commander does not bribe her subordinates. Unless," she added with a wink, "she knows it will work."

"Ha! Well it won't but I'd really like it if you kept trying," he replied with a laugh. "Seriously, thank you Lion. I know how much you've done for me and I appreciate it."

Leonie remembered the flogging she had administered and suppressed a shudder at the memory. She hoped she never had to do anything like that again. She knew she wouldn't with Alistair. Each day seemed to bring about subtle changes in him. He was stronger and hid less behind his humor, seemed genuinely engaged in the lives of his fellow Wardens. There was still a great deal of animosity towards Loghain and it seemed to be reciprocated but at least they both acted professionally. Or ignored each other whenever possible. She could accept that. And to her relief Alistair had formed an attachment to Varel that seemed to bring both men enjoyment.

"Watch over your charges, Alistair. Keep them safe and return quickly. Do whatever it takes to get Avernus here, even if it means tying him up," Leonie instructed as they all stood in the great hall several moments later. "Ensure that all of his notes and journals are brought here as well."

"Count on it," Alistair replied with such authority that Leonie blinked in surprise and delight. There was more of his father in him than she had originally thought and it was good to see it coming to the surface.

Turning to look at the others, she gave Sigrun a bright smile. "You will be Alistair's Second. Assist in any way you can, Sigrun."

"No problem, Lion. I'll keep the blighters in line," Sigrun assured her, glancing at the two elves with a grin.

Karlin looked slightly less mutinous than usual, but hardly happy to be traveling. Although the glare she shot Loghain, who had come to see them off as well, reassured Leonie that sending her away with Sigrun and Alistair, even for a short length of time, was a smarter move than having her remain at the Keep. Leonie understood the cause of Karlin's acrimony toward Loghain, sympathized with the young elf, but there was no room for such hatred among their ranks. Darius merely looked wary and watchful. Leonie held back the sigh that tickled at her throat. She needed to spend more time with the newer recruits, especially the embittered Karlin. If she could only figure out how to create more hours in a day, she thought, finally allowing her sigh to escape.

Standing on the top step in the cold morning light, Leonie watched with some trepidation as the group rode out through the gates. She was shivering, her arms wrapped around herself as she stood there but the air was crisp and sweet. She breathed deeply, enjoying the scent. Loghain re-entered the Keep with a pointed remark about the foolishness of youth, no doubt directed at her for standing cloakless in the morning air. She chuckled. She had been called far worse by him.

As she stood there, she heard the laughter of children playing in the snow and found herself walking in their direction. A few moments of watching joyful children at play would not cause the world to end. She found herself smiling.

* * *

He looked at the snowy landscape outside his window. Leonie was forming a snowball, looking much like the children gathered around her. Her curls, caught in the wind, were dark ribbons against the pink of her cheeks. She was laughing and shivering, being pelted by snowballs and returning them with a fervor that spoke of her joy. He smiled at the scene before him.

She would have made a wonderful mother. He couldn't help but wonder if she missed not having children. He closed his eyes, remembering his Fade dream and felt an unfamiliar ache in his chest, a heaviness that felt like tears clogging his throat. If he could give her anything, it would be that. But he was too old to start a new family and even if he was younger, the taint had taken their ability to have children from them. One more poisonous side effect of the Joining. His smile faded.

"Excuse me, Warden Loghain. I'm looking for Commander Leonie," Varel said from the door, his voice speaking of urgency.

Loghain sighed. A few moments of peace seemed too much for the Maker to grant. He glanced back over his shoulder. "Come in, Varel. What is it?"

"A messenger has arrived. An Orlesian ship arrived in Amaranthine this morning. No word on what type or who was aboard," Varel said, coming to stand beside Loghain. He looked out the window and Loghain heard him sigh heavily.

"A few minutes won't matter. Inform the captain of the guard and have the watchtowers manned. Don't shut the gate. We'll have time to do that if necessary," Loghain instructed.

"As you wish, Warden Loghain," the man replied and then hesitated.

"Speak your mind, Varel," Loghain instructed of the seneschal. He braced himself, knowing that the man thought the world of Leonie and merely tolerated Loghain.

"Just protect her from herself," Varel said quietly and turned to leave. Travis entered as Varel exited.

"Travis?" Loghain queried, still watching Leonie. He felt a ripple of anxiety when he sensed the tension in the younger man. He turned and looked at Travis. The shaman's mouth was pursed, his blue eye fixed in the distance and his green eye piercing into Loghain with the intensity of a general surveying a battlefield.

"She is nearing the breaking point," Travis said quietly. "I don't think it'll take much to push her over the edge."

Loghain didn't need to ask who he was talking about. He could feel the stress in Leonie, the fear. She was almost brittle at times and drawing into herself. That she was out playing with the children had pleased him because she seemed untroubled in those moments.

"Yes, and what would you have me do?" Loghain asked, trying not to feel defensive, an impossible task. He felt responsible for contributing to her fragility. He seemed unable to help alleviate her stress, only contribute to it. He wished he was a better man, a man who understood women. Or at least that particular woman.

"She believes she will become the next Architect. She is beginning to understand the darkspawn. Has she mentioned that?" Travis asked.

Loghain blanched. She hadn't told him she was starting to understand the darkspawn. Anger welled up inside him. How could he help her if she didn't allow it? His frustration was simmering just below the surface, a geyser ready to erupt. Why did she insist on doing everything on her own? Loghain looked out the window again. Leonie's smile was radiant as she picked up one of the young girls, spinning her around in a circle before they both collapsed onto a snowy mound. His smile chased quickly across his features and then he put it away in favor of his scowl.

"I'll ask again. What would you have me do about it?"

"She needs to be grounded in this world. She has to have a reason for staying here," Travis said softly, his voice low and urgent, almost hypnotic.

Loghain reluctantly moved from the window and sat down at his desk. "Shall I nail her boots to the floor and force her to face her fears?" Loghain sneered, meeting Travis's eyes.

"Marry her. Isn't that your custom? To marry those you love?" the younger man asked in those same persuasive tones.

Loghain's snort of derision was directed inward. "I cannot imagine a more ludicrous suggestion, Travis," he said finally. Bitterness etched each word like acid on metal.

"It offers her some much needed happiness and stability. Is there a reason you don't want to marry her?" Travis asked, sitting forward and studying Loghain, his expression unfathomable, but he was seemingly unperturbed by Loghain's reaction.

Was there? He had already admitted that he loved Leonie. Was there a reason he didn't ask her to marry him? Plenty of them, he admitted bitterly. He was, as she enjoyed pointing out, impossible and taciturn and dictatorial and irascible. He had lived so long alone that it was difficult at times to live with someone else. She had admitted the same to him recently. She had not lived with Duncan, she had lived on her own from the time she was eighteen.

He had been married once and it had been painful to lose Celia, far more so than he had thought possible. He still carried around the guilt of not being with her when she died, of not being there during those times she needed him. Why would he commit himself to such a situation again? Yet he knew, in the deepest parts of himself, that he was already that committed, would bear the weight of guilt if anything happened to Leonie.

"I can't believe you would suggest such a course, given my history," he said bluntly, staring coolly at his friend.

"You'll lose her if you don't. Is that what you want?" Travis asked, his voice a gentle challenge.

Loghain shook his head, drumming his fingers on his desk. "What aren't you telling me, Travis?" he finally managed, wondering if it was possible for the day to get any stranger.

Travis leaned forward, his voice flowing like water over rocks. "There are certain moments in her life that are merging. She is strong, we all know that, but not as strong as she would have others believe. She has been worn down by the past. She needs an anchor to keep her here in this world. You can be that anchor, but not if you aren't committed to it."

Loghain stood up and moved with restless grace as he paced the room. "You don't think moving our things into shared quarters was commitment enough?" he asked, disbelieving and uneasy with the entire tenor of the conversation.

Travis sat back, smiling indulgently. "A half step, perhaps," he began and then his smile fell away and Loghain glimpsed the pain in the younger man's face, the pain of loss. A look he recognized all too readily. He had seen it in his own eyes, seen it in Leonie's when he first arrived at the Keep. The look of someone still mourning a deep and painful loss.

"You know about Cerida. You know if I had truly committed to her, she would not have left our tribe. I would not have lost her. You run the same risk with Leonie," Travis finished, his tone unhappy, underscored by a deep sadness.

"It occurs to me, Travis, that you have never explained why you have such a keen interest in Leonie. Perhaps now would be a good time to do so," Loghain responded and it was not a request, it was a demand. They both understood it as such.

Travis's his face paled from its normal reddish hue. "She is the only one who knows Cerida's whereabouts, or so my own dreams told me. Even before Leonie arrived in Ferelden, before I knew her name, I knew of her from dreams. She will lead me to Cerida, or what is left of Cerida," he added starkly.

"So you don't hope to find Cerida alive?" Loghain asked, softening his tone. He reaching over and placed a consoling hand on the younger man's shoulder before resuming his pacing.

"I don't think such a hope would be wise. And I want to spare Leonie the same fate. You could assist by providing a reason for her to stay here."

"Why? Surely if you want me to agree to this mad scheme of yours I have the right to know," Loghain demanded in a tone that echoed his years as a general.

Travis nodded twice, clucking. "You know that I don't normally divulge possible future outcomes, Loghain, but you need to know this. You need to know why you must not let this current future unfold. Maybe this time you'll listen.

"There are two events that will occur and you will lose her because of them. Someone is coming. Someone who loves her, though she doesn't know it. And he will woo her out from under you because of your pride and stubbornness. He will marry her, give her children, a life she never thought to have. Is that what you want?"

Loghain's mouth tightened and his brows furrowed in a frown. What he wanted? When had _that_ ever been relevant? If someone could give Leonie the happiness of an ordinary life, who was he to interfere? The thought of her with anyone else, in any other life, stuck in his gullet like a lump of clay, dark and foul tasting.

"Who is this person?" he growled, his anger once more a mantle on his shoulders.

"Does it matter? Would you willingly lose her to anyone?" Travis prodded, staring intently at Loghain.

"If that's what she wants, why would I not want that for her?" Loghain asked stiffly. They both knew it was a lie.

"Because it will not bring her happiness. You are the one she needs for that. She will only marry him because you are too proud to ask her to stay."

Loghain's laugh was low and angry. "So I should trick her into marrying me to avoid my sending her to another man's bed? You think me so vile a man as to do that?"

"I think you are the only person strong willed enough to help shape her without destroying her, if you don't allow your arrogance and obstinacy to rule you."

Loghain snorted at that proclamation. It was his pride and stubbornness that had brought Ferelden to its knees during the Blight. It was that same pride and stubbornness that had cost him so dearly in the past. Why would this be different?

"You spoke of two events. What is the other one?" Loghain demanded, arms folded across his chest in a stance that even he recognized as belligerent and defensive.

"I will not reveal how it comes about, but someone will leave her broken, an empty shell," Travis replied, his entire demeanor deathly still. "Her body will remain but her spirit will be gone."

"And?" Loghain prodded, feeling a sudden coldness in the air. He moved to the fire. It did nothing to warm him.

"That someone will be you, Loghain."

Loghain's head snapped back to look at Travis, his eyes locking with the shaman's. "What do you mean by that? How will I break her?" he snarled, appalled by the man's words. The accusation reverberated through him, echoing reproachfully in his brain. He had certainly betrayed enough people to know he was capable of doing the same to her and he knew instinctively that such a betrayal would break her. His laugh was as bitter as ale. He found he couldn't deny Travis's words.

"I've already told you more than I should have. She will succumb to the darkness in her blood. More than that I can't and won't say." Travis replied firmly.

Loghain found he was clenching his jaws. He had never put much stock in the foretelling of future events, with two notable exceptions. Everything the Witch of the Wilds had told him, had told Maric, had come to pass. Travis had warned him, told him before he left to rejoin his tribe, that Loghain would bring ruin to Ferelden through his unreasoning hatred and arrogance. He rubbed a hand across his eyes.

"You've given me precious little information, Travis," he began. Loghain paused, running a hand through his hair. He wasn't sure marrying Leonie would save her, instead he feared he would destroy her spirit if he married her.

"Are you afraid of marrying her or afraid she won't agree to it?" Travis asked, ruthlessly cutting through emotion to get to the heart of the matter in a manner that Loghain both appreciated and loathed.

"I see no reason she would agree to it," Loghain answered, surprising them both with his honesty. "She was married to a paragon, from all accounts. I hardly think she'll want to marry his murderer."

Travis clucked and shook his head in sympathy, the beads and feathers momentarily swirling around his head, creating a nimbus of white hair with bright colors that wreathed him, making him look disconcertingly otherworldly. "You would continue to punish yourself but I think she would suggest the time for that has passed."

Loghain sat down again, leaning back in his chair. Was it truly that the great warrior Loghain Mac Tir was afraid of being thoroughly and soundly rejected? His laugh was mirthless.

"We are never free of the past, Travis. It shapes us, it's in our blood. We wear it on our faces and in our minds."

"It shapes you, yes. It doesn't define you," Travis countered. "She loves you. Why would she not agree?"

Loghain couldn't imagine breaking Leonie, he would sooner cut his arm off than hurt her and yet when he looked at their relationship, he saw how often he _had_ hurt her, had struck out at her. What was to keep him from doing so again, marriage or no?

Travis clicked his teeth together and his eyes narrowed. He was almost feline in that moment and Loghain felt a slight unease creep along the hairs on his neck. "You say you love her but you question the wisdom of marrying her. Why is that?" Travis asked, arms folded across his chest.

Loghain paused to answer the question truthfully. For all that he trusted Travis, the sudden pronouncement that he needed to marry Leonie to keep her from breaking seemed too unbelievable and more convenient for Travis than Loghain. But the truth was, he admitted to himself, the Hero of River Dane was a coward. He didn't want to risk losing what he had established with Leonie and there was no guarantee that this wouldn't irrevocably break their relationship.

"I question the wisdom of Leonie marrying me," Loghain said gruffly when the silence had stretched nearly to the breaking point.

Travis chuckled, a rich and ebullient sound. "Your self-loathing must be a heavy burden to carry."

"More than you can imagine," Loghain agreed with a harsh smile.

Before more could be said, Leonie entered. Her cheeks were still pink and she was shivering as she moved to the fire and warmed herself. "Varel tells me that a ship arrived in Amaranthine, flying the imperial colors of Orlais. I'm having the families in the immediate vicinity come to the keep. Aura and Anders are preparing the infirmary."

"I've had Lieutenant Simmons notified and the watchtowers manned. We'll be able to see them in plenty of time to close the gates if necessary," Loghain told her, watching as her face paled slightly.

"I will insist on one thing, Loghain. You must give me your word," Leonie began and Loghain's hackles immediately rose. He knew that voice, knew he would not willingly give his word.

"Don't say what I believe you are about to say, Commander. You'll get no promise from me," Loghain snarled, his fear fomenting anger.

Leonie glared at him, chin held at an angle, hands on hips in a defiant pose intended to remind him of who was in command. He glared back, arms folded tightly against his chest. Silence was quick and deep as the combatants tried to stare each other down. Loghain would have laughed had he been a witness to the scene. Travis removed himself from the room with catlike grace and swiftness.

"If it appears that a battle is imminent, I will turn myself over to the Orlesians. I do not want to lose men over this," Leonie said to break the silence. "You will not engage them," she continued, pointing her finger at him for emphasis.

"I will do whatever is necessary to protect you, Commander. That is my duty as your Second," he replied, his voice frosty.

She blinked quickly and he saw that she was fighting back tears. "You will do as I order, Loghain. And you will take over the command of the Wardens if it is necessary. Those are your duties as my Second."

"Why are you giving up? Where has the obstinate, willful woman gone that would fight to her dying breath for what she believed in?" Loghain ground out, frustrated beyond all reason with her blind disregard for her own wellbeing.

Leonie's eyes sparkled with unshed tears. "She is lost," she whispered and he was across the room in three long strides, sweeping her into his arms.

"Then let me take the burden for now, Leonie," he urged, pulling her close and gently tangling his hand in her hair. He lowered his head, resting a cheek on the crown of her hair. She smelled of snow and fresh air and he loved her more in that moment than he had thought it possible to love a person. "Marry me," he added softly, the words falling from his mouth without thought.

* * *

Phillipe Delacroix, envoy to Her Imperial Highness Empress Celene, was devastatingly handsome. Tall, with an athletic build, he moved with the studied grace that came with self confidence. From his thick golden brown hair, tied back in a fashionable queue, to his expressive grey eyes, he was a court favorite, beloved by his empress and the court that surrounded her. He was the epitome of the enlightened male that Celene appreciated and hoped would help bring that enlightenment to other nobles at court.

He could have his pick of women within Celene's court. Young or old, married or single, they fell easily to his charm and wit. Except one. The one woman he wanted. The one whom he believed was destined to be his wife. The one woman who had constantly spurned his advances, who had graciously declined his every invitation. She was taken, he had been told, so in love with a man who had once been a cutpurse and murderer that she had no desire for other men. Phillipe had finally realized the futility of his continued pursuit and instead relegated himself to the background as merely an acquaintance.

Now that Duncan had died and she'd had her time to mourn, he was ready to once again pursue her. He had begged Celene to send him as her special envoy, explaining that he loved Leonie and planned to make her his wife. Celene, charmed by his earnestness, agreed. He had ignored her warnings that it appeared Leonie had formed a new attachment. He had hope born of youthful optimism and his own charismatic charm.

Disembarking and completely ignoring his traveling companions, he stepped onto the dock and surveyed the crudely constructed city before him with disdain. No doubt she would be grateful to him for rescuing her from such a barbaric and inhospitable country. He sniffed, barely repressing a shudder at the smell of fish and wet dog and smoking peat that assailed his nose. The sooner he retrieved her and returned to Orlais the better. Of course it would be a month or longer but he was willing to stay as long as it took to convince her of his sincerity.

"What business do you have in Ferelden?" a dark haired man demanded, planting himself in front of Phillipe with grim determination. Phillipe studied him and the companion that joined the dark haired man. She was an attractive blonde but not enough to command his attention for more than a few seconds.

Phillipe bowed formally, heels clicking softly. "I am Phillipe Delacroix, special envoy to Her Imperial Highness, Empress Celene the First of Orlais. I come with a message for Warden Commander Leonie Caron," he replied coolly, withdrawing his letter of introduction and handing it to the ruffian who stood before him. Both the dark haired man and his companion looked ready to disembowel him with the slightest provocation. He knew Fereldans were barely civilized, he would not give them provocation.

"I'm Warden Nathaniel and this is Warden Tamra. We'll take your message," the man said with quiet authority.

"It was Empress Celene's express wish that I deliver the message directly to Lady Leonie," Phillipe replied haughtily, suppressing a chuckle at the look of surprise that flashed across the Warden's face.

"You know Commander Leonie?" the female Warden asked, voicing her own surprise.

"I do, yes. Now, if you would be so kind as to move aside, I shall be on my way," Phillipe replied graciously, ignoring the pair of Wardens. He was a man on a mission. Determined and resolute. He pulled on his soft leather gloves.

He was dressed in the finest fashion of the court, his fur lined cloak a perfect cerulean blue, his black knee boots shined to a mirrored finish, his trousers tucked in with only the slightest crease in the dark blue velvet that hugged his muscular thighs. He tugged lightly on his grey and red doublet and nodded briefly, assured that he looked his best.

His traveling companions had made their way down the gangplank and were making their introductions but Phillipe paid them little heed. He was already demanding his horse be brought off the boat as he was anxious to deliver his message and see his future wife.


	29. Chapter 29

**A/N:** _Short chapter but I have to go out of town unexpectedly and don't know when I'll be back or if I'll have access to the internet so wanted to post this for now as I wanted people to know what Leonie's answer was.  
Happy New Years to all! _

**Surreal **

Leonie pulled away from him, staring into Loghain's cool blue eyes, her mind reeling. Had she just heard what she thought she'd heard? Or was her mind playing tricks on her? "What did you just say?" she asked around a cotton dry mouth.

Loghain frowned down at her. "I said let me take the burden from you for now."

Leonie cocked one eyebrow. "That is not what I meant, Loghain Mac Tir, and well you know it," she replied with asperity.

She watched the emotions flare and disappear in his expression and she reached up, running her fingers along the creases that had formed between his silky jet brows. Was his proposal an impulsive gesture that he was regretting? Had he asked her to marry him out of pity? She found herself returning his frown.

"This is hardly the time to discuss it, Commander," he said reprovingly. Leonie's frown deepened.

"You brought it up so apparently now _is_ the time to discuss it," she returned, stepping back from him. His arms fell away. Leonie and Loghain stood staring at each other and she knew with certainty that he was trying to gauge her reaction much as she was trying to discern his motivation. Truth be told, Leonie wasn't sure what to think. But he was right; this wasn't the time to discuss a marriage proposal.

"Never mind, Loghain. We shall discuss this at a later date. Perhaps I shall forget you even said it. That would make you happy, yes?" she added before turning to leave. Time was running short and she wanted to put her armor on before the Orlesians arrived.

"Don't put words in my mouth, Leonie," Loghain growled, following her up the stairs. "Since you didn't respond, I can only surmise that you don't wish to marry me," he added and she caught the hint, the merest shadow, of hurt in his voice.

Maker, was he serious? Her steps faltered and Loghain ran into her, pushing her forward. Had she not been holding on to the banister, she would have fallen on her face. Or maybe she already had. Her lack of a clear answer had wounded him and her second guessing why he asked only made the hurt worse. She continued on to their rooms and once they were inside, she closed the door.

"Are you serious?" she asked, her heart beginning to thump loudly in her chest now that it was sinking in. Was he? She moved to stand in front of him, her voice earnest as she asked again, "Are you serious about marrying me?"

Loghain's voice was cool and aloof. "You think I would say such a thing and not be serious?" he asked, his hurt hidden behind his sarcasm.

"It is just rather sudden, is it not?" she couldn't help but ask.

Loghain's answer was to bend his head down and kiss her, his lips moving with silken grace along hers, soft and searching. She opened her mouth to him, felt her arms flow around him as she pulled him closer. She loved him, was there a reason to hesitate? She could think of none save the fact that she was dying and so was he but the question of who was dying faster drifted away from her on the rising tide of her desire. She finally broke away from him, her breath and heart rapid and wild.

"Yes," she said simply and was swept back into his arms for another kiss, this one lingering and passionate, commanding and intense. A knock at the door brought them both back to reality.

"Enter!" Loghain commanded and she watched as twin spots of color settled high on his cheekbones. She could feel her own blush flooding her face.

"Five riders are approaching the Keep, Commander. It appears that Nathaniel and Tamra are amongst them. Lieutenant Simmons estimates they are no more than fifteen minutes away," Varel said, his eyes focusing on the wall above Loghain's head.

"Thank you, Varel. We shall be down in ten minutes," Leonie answered, her voice a bit husky as her heart began to find its normal rhythm.

"As you say, Commander," Varel said and gave her a penetrating stare before smiling softly, as if to himself, and closing the door behind his retreating figure.

Fingers flying, Leonie helped buckle Loghain into his armor before they started the same process on her. She shifted her breastplate and smiled at Loghain, who was adjusting her left pauldron.

"You really did ask me to marry you, did you not?" she asked, finding that her smile was reluctant to leave.

"I believe I did, yes," Loghain replied dryly. His own smile bordered on smug. "And you were irresponsible enough to agree to do so," he added and then stared at her, his eyes narrowed. "Foolish woman," he added, planting a kiss on her unsuspecting lips.

"I thought I was a stubborn chit?" she teased as they made their way back downstairs. Loghain snorted but said nothing. She felt his touch on the small of her back, even through her armor.

Leonie was strapping her sword on as they entered the great hall. Varel and Travis were already there, both in armor with their weapons in place. Both men nodded silently. Varel was tense, she saw it in his eyes and the way he held himself. She offered a reassuring smile. Travis, on the other hand, looked positively serene, as if a great weight had been lifted from him.

Leonie was apprehensive about the approaching Orlesians, and curious about who might be arriving and why. She glanced at Loghain, who looked relaxed and capable and just the tiniest bit smug and arrogant. A curious day, she thought again and then pulled herself up to her full height, shoulders back as she stepped out of the Keep to greet the riders.

If she hadn't known she was awake by the bitingly brisk wind she would believe herself dreaming. Not only had the ever recalcitrant and reluctant Loghain asked her to marry him but, if she was not mistaken, Savine was one of the riders now dismounting. She recognized the burly build, the large head and the short dark hair.

"Warden Savine?" she asked, incredulous. She resisted the urge to rub her eyes, nearly convinced she was hallucinating.

"Warden Commander Leonie," he replied, extending a beefy hand to her. She clasped his forearm and he did the same, his grip as crushing as she remembered. Her flinch was barely discernable.

"What brings you to Ferelden?" she asked, focused solely on the man who had saved her life in Weisshaupt.

"Escort duty, Warden Commander," he explained in his brusque voice. He nodded his head at the diminutive figure now sliding off her mount.

Even with her cloak and hood wrapped tightly about her, Leonie knew the woman immediately. "Fiona? Andraste's grace! What are you doing here?" Leonie asked, her voice rising on a note of disbelief.

"I came as soon as you sent word that there were talking darkspawn here. I would have been here sooner but it proved difficult to leave Orlais," the older woman said, pushing her hood back. Though there were even more streaks of silver in the elven woman's dark hair, she looked otherwise unchanged. Her smile was tight and strained as she looked at Leonie's Second.

"I can't say I was expecting him here," Fiona added, with a nod at Loghain. "Wasn't he supposed to be in Montsimmard by now?" she asked in frosty tones.

Leonie sighed. The day could not possibly get any more surreal. She was about to speak when the third rider dismounted and made his way to her. He bowed deeply, his right leg extended in proper court fashion. The sun nearly blinded her as it came off the shine on his boots.

"My dear Lion, it is good to see you again," Phillipe Delacroix said, standing with such ease and grace it was impossible not to watch his lithe figure. As well he knew, Leonie suspected with a wry twist of lips.

No, the day could not get any stranger than it already was, she thought, nodding her head at the tall man before her. He was a favorite of Celene's, which could only mean he was here on her behest.

"Ser Delacroix, this is an unexpected surprise," she found herself saying. She was fairly certain she was having an out of body experience as everything seemed surreal. She felt distanced from the events unfolding around her.

"Darling Lion, I have come to woo you and remove you from this barbaric place," the man announced in his deep, resonant voice, the timbre of which had sent many a woman swooning.

Leonie's laughter floated across the courtyard. There was a slightly hysterical ring to it.

* * *

Alistair kept his eyes straight ahead but he could feel the tension in Karlin. She was fighting her horse's lead every step and he finally reined in. "You'll break her mouth if you keep that up," he told her sharply and then sighed. "Just hold the reins lightly, wrap them like this," he said, quickly demonstrating.

"It's all the horses we have in the Alienage. I can't believe I'm not a better rider," she mocked bitterly, ignoring his advice.

"Yes, I can't imagine why you aren't," he agreed with a cheeky grin. She was going to get thrown or at the very least, be given a rough ride.

When they stopped for lunch he watched with no small amount of amusement as Karlin waddled over to lean against a tree. No doubt she was too sore to sit and she had nobody to blame but herself. He had certainly offered sound advice several times only to be snubbed or subjected to her bitter, barbed tongue.

Sigrun sank down beside him on the log he had found and sank her teeth into the hard biscuits Terrill had sent along. "She's a bundle of laughs," Sigrun muttered with good humor, giving Karlin a pert smile.

"You grew up in Dust Town which is almost a paradise compared to the Alienage," Alistair was surprised to hear himself say. Why in the Maker's name was he defending the little spitfire from Denerim?

"Sure, I always say if you want a fun time, visit Dust Town," Sigrun agreed with a shrug of her shoulders. "Nobody believes me, can't imagine why," she added, biting into another biscuit with relish.

Alistair chuckled, despite his desire not to. "Yeah, I know I had a blast there," he said around a mouthful of apple.

Sigrun stood and wandered over to Karlin. "Listen, I know you think we're all the most despicable creatures in Thedas, but a bit of advice from one duster type to another. Don't bite the hand that feeds you. Learn to appreciate it," she told the elf, flashing another grin at the woman. "You want to hate Leo and Loghain, go for it. But the rest of us? No reason at all to hate on us. We're the ones watching your back and unless you want a knife in it, you'll cut the crap."

Surreal. Alistair knew he was staring open mouthed at the dwarf. In the short time he'd known her, he'd never seen her say anything pithy at all and here she was, giving Karlin a succinct set down. The elf blushed scarlet to the roots of her hair.

The day became even more surreal when he watched the elf stare at Sigrun with a shocked expression that seemed to melt into a smile. She was astonishingly pretty when she let go of the tightly crafted sneer she habitually wore. He blinked and snapped his mouth shut. At least, he thought as they mounted up, he and Karlin had a dislike of Loghain in common. It was a start.


	30. Chapter 30

**An Imperial Request**

"What are you doing here, Phillipe?" Leonie asked quietly, standing with her hands on her hips. Tension was pulling along her nerve endings, making her head ache and stretching her muscles taut.

"I have a message from Celene, for your eyes only. Regrettably, I can say nothing more until you have read her message, Lion," he replied with just the right touch of wry regret. A practiced diplomat, a smooth and gregarious charmer. Just what she needed. She hadn't just rolled her eyes had she? Maker knew she wanted to.

Glaring at the courtier before her, wanting to stamp her foot and send him on his way, Leonie held her tongue, knowing that a scene in front of the gathered crowd would not serve anyone. But the last thing she needed was him tripping under foot. Or a message from her cousin, for that matter. "And where is this message?" she asked in chilly tones.

"I suggest we go inside, my lovely woman. Surely you have not forgotten all your good manners in this Maker forsaken land?" Phillipe asked, his eyes sparkling with humor, a smile dancing on his lips. She smiled despite herself. He was almost as good looking as Tremain and a force of nature that was hard to deny. At least in regard to his smile. Leonie heard a low growl from Loghain. Her nerves tightened further, pulling at her muscles until they began to ache with the strain.

Fiona was shooting venomous looks at Loghain and Loghain was shooting equally venomous looks at Phillipe. "Of course, all of you, come in. Varel, speak to Aura about rooms for our guests," Leonie added quietly. "Fiona, we shall talk after you have settled in. Any of the servants can show you to my office," Leonie continued as she lead the entourage into the Keep. She felt stretched too tightly, as if something would tear or give way. She was afraid it would either be her temper or her mind. She hoped for the former, though she thought with a wry twist of lips, that it was more likely to be the latter.

"Follow me, Phillipe," she added and he was immediately beside her, offering his arm. She had no choice but to take it or look foolish and boorish. Her sigh was held back by sheer willpower.

"Commander," Loghain began, his tones coated in ice.

Her sigh was eating into her willpower and her headache was no longer a whisper of a suggestion. It was blooming like a spring flower. "By all means, join us, Loghain," she said over her shoulder. She was striving for a conciliatory note. Even in her own ears she sounded defensive and desperate. She wondered briefly if she could hide somewhere.

"I have strict orders to deliver this message to you and you alone, my beautiful Lion. You don't want me to have my head removed for disobeying Empress Celene, do you?" Phillipe asked with a beatific smile that made Leonie's temper rise ever so slightly.

"He is my Second, Phillipe. Should he not join us and learn what is in this missive now, he will certainly do so later," Leonie replied grimly.

"You can also be the first to offer your felicitations. Loghain has just proposed to me and I have accepted," she added and heard Loghain's snort behind her. No doubt he would have crowed in triumph had she given him a chance. She did not. Nor did Phillipe Delacroix.

"Proposed what?" Phillipe asked turning a charming smile on her, grey eyes wide in feigned innocence.

"Marriage, you overblown popinjay," Loghain growled.

Leonie's shoulders wanted to slump. Only with incredible stubbornness did she keep them straight and her head high. But her chin was tilting dangerously. That was a sign that anyone who knew her should recognize. Phillipe was chuckling as they entered her office. Leonie closed the door very quietly and with great purpose. She wanted to slam it. She wanted to shout at the two overgrown roosters who were pecking at each other.

"We have a saying in Orlais, Ser Loghain. Until a woman is actually married, she is available to any who can charm her away from her affianced."

"We have a saying in Ferelden, Delacroix. Touch what is important to me and you will remove a bloody stump," Loghain snarled in reply.

Leonie's sigh finally broke through her willpower and came sailing forth. She was about to speak when Phillipe, hand on the hilt of his very attractive and lethal looking sword, said with cool precision, "So you are afraid you will, indeed, lose your woman to a better man?"

"Why you puffed up little…" Loghain ground out, reaching for his own sword.

"Enough! Andraste's grace! I am not chattel to be fought over by the two of you! Sit down, the both of you, and be quiet!" Leonie huffed in a loud and angry voice. Both men stared at her in surprise. She returned their looks with one of her own, one she hoped conveyed how angry she was, how close to beheading the both of them she was.

"But my fiery Leonie, are you not thrilled to have two such fine specimens fight for the honor of your suit?" Phillipe asked, sincerely confused.

"Do not say another word, Phillipe, or so help me I shall run you through with my sword. I am not your fiery anything. Do I make myself clear_?_" she asked coldly, placing a hand on _her_ hilt.

Phillipe laughed softly. "Yes, Lion. You make yourself very clear. I shall behave, although you make it difficult. I didn't think it possible for you to look lovelier than you did at our last meeting, yet I find it is so. A wonderful creature, our Leonie Caron, isn't she?"

Loghain's brows lowered and Leonie was gritting her teeth. "Do not bother with your silver tongue, Phillipe," Leonie instructed. Did he really hope to woo her with flowery phrases and memories of her time at court? She had sent him packing then, she would most certainly do the same now. And how could he pretend she was some dainty, delicate female? She was a warrior, not a hothouse flower, for Maker's sake. She shook her head in disgust.

"Now show me this missive," she added, holding her hand out.

Phillipe reached into his doublet and withdrew the letter. It bore the heavy, ornate seal of the Imperial crest. He extracted another and she noted Celene's personal seal on it.

She opened the personal letter first.

_My Dearest Cousin,_

_It seems such an age since we have been in each other's company. You are so very wise to stay as far from Orlais as you can during this most unpleasant business with Nevarra. I am positively distraught that Grey Wardens have taken sides. My heart breaks for poor Didier. Do not return, Leonie. I cannot guarantee your safety if you do. Didier cannot guarantee it either. These are troubling times, Lion. But enough of such talk!_

_I have heard the most delicious gossip about you, sweet cousin. So very naughty of you to take up with the Hero of River Dane. Have you performed your Veil dance yet? Have you tried out that wicked Antivan Butterfly? Is it really physically possible? I have yet to have the courage to try it. You must tell me all the details, my dear Lion. They tell me he enjoys tying his women up and dominating them in bed. Is that true? And does he really wear his Chevalier armor in the boudoir? How very Fereldan of him! I suppose he would not consider a visit to Val Royeaux. Such a shame, my dear. The blushes we could produce in a single evening with him. Ah, it is fun to dream. _

_Be well, sweet Lion. _

_I remain your most loving cousin,_

_Celene_

Leonie was fairly certain she was blushing, her cheeks warm as she read Celene's frivolous letter. For a moment, she closed her eyes, an overwhelming homesickness for the simple machinations of the Grand Game and court life flooding into her. Life had seemed so much less complicated in those days. She blinked away the past before breaking the seal on the official letter.

_Leonie,_

_I have a most important favor to ask of you. It seems our cousin Evard is up to his usual scheming. He has heard of letters between monarchs that may weaken my position here at home. There is much unrest with this Nevarran business and many who wish to go to war, rather than prevent it. I seek peace but Evard seeks to undermine me. Should it come to light that I was considering an alliance with Ferelden I fear the unrest will continue to grow and Evard will have the power he needs to bring my rule to an end. _

_The letters were a ploy, with the full knowledge and support of Queen Anora. She wanted to expose Eamon Guerrin as a traitor. He was plotting to have her set aside because she had yet to bear a child. I was to take her place, an alliance between two great nations. I suspect he had something else in mind, but you know how I am. I adore the Grand Game, and Cailan was such a delightful flirt. Harmless fun and helping a friend, nothing more. However, for reasons only he understood, Cailan kept the letters. Andraste preserve us if they come to light. You know how very devious and vile Evard is. _

_Queen Anora assures me that the letters are not in the palace. She believes that he took them with him to Ostagar, where they remain. Expeditions have been sent but failed because of the large darkspawn presence still there. I would not ordinarily ask such a favor of my favorite cousin but I cannot bear the thought of that despicable little toad Evard destroying all my hard work. Find those letters and destroy them. Do this for me, cousin, and you have only to name your reward. _

_Celene _

Silently, Leonie handed Loghain the official letter. He was going to be very angry. Very, _very_ angry, she amended silently. "Phillipe, you should go up to your room and freshen up. Perhaps if you hurry, you can return on the evening tide," she said quietly, bracing herself for Loghain's ire.

"I can't as I have been told to accompany you, Lion," Phillipe said with a dimpled smile. He pulled another missive from his doublet and passed it to Leonie. The orders were signed by Celene. She frowned, folding the document and returning it to Phillipe.

"These orders mean nothing in Ferelden," she said quietly.

"Ah, I handed you the wrong orders," he replied, removing yet another sealed document.

"That's Anora's seal," Loghain growled, reaching for the document. Leonie barely resisted batting his hand away.

"Thank you, I recognize it as such," she remarked dryly, taking the document.

That would certainly explain Erlina's presence. She was an agent who was acting as a go-between. No doubt Evangelina was doing the same. The women could be mistaken for each other and thus come and go with little notice, delivering private messages without suspicion. She would not have thought Anora capable of playing so cunning a game, but then no-one would guess just how ruthless Celene was upon first meeting her either.

So Phillipe was to accompany them to ensure the deed was done and report as such to Celene. Such ridiculous measures and totally unnecessary. It was insulting that neither Celene nor Anora trusted her to do the deed on her own. She needed an overseer? Maker take them all, she thought bitterly.

Surprised by Loghain's lack of reaction, Leonie found herself studying him with a puzzled frown. He had known. He had already known about the information in the letter. Anger awoke and began to blaze within her blood. Why hadn't Anora spoken to her about the matter when she was in Denerim? More importantly, why hadn't her Second? She was so angry at the Mac Tirs she couldn't speak for long moments. The silence was heavy and accusatory as she stared at Loghain, who looked neither repentant nor apologetic. Phillipe was watching the scene with an amused, speculative expression that made Leonie want to box his ears.

Finally she went to the door and called for Varel. "Please have someone escort Phillipe to his room, Varel," she instructed and then in a lower voice added, "Treat him much as we did with Alistair." Varel nodded once.

Leonie turned to address Phillipe. "We shall talk later," she promised in briskly cold tones.

Phillipe bowed low, his smile soft and oddly tender. "I look forward to it, Leonie."

She bit back a snide retort and closed her door on his retreating figure. She wanted to slam it. She wanted to pick up the lovely vase, sitting on a low table and full of dried flowers, and hurl it at Loghain Mac Tir's head. He was glowering at her. Glowering! His gall was truly amazing to her.

"You," she began harshly, her voice so thick with anger as to be unrecognizable.

"It's not what you think," Loghain began stiffly.

"Be quiet!" she snapped, coming to stand before him, bristling with anger.

"You knew about this. You no doubt had a good laugh with your daughter about the gullible and biddable _Orlesian_," she began acerbically and to her horror, tears began to tickle down her cheeks. She swiped at them angrily. _Damn him! Damn Anora. Damn Celene and damn her for being a fool. _

A thought, as dark and bitter as a winter's night, came unbidden to her. Had he known about the letters and Cailan's desire to marry Empress Celene before Ostagar? Had he been angry enough to betray Cailan and the Grey Wardens? She didn't want to believe it, couldn't allow herself to believe that the man she loved was capable of such a cold and sinister action. He was searching her face, his blue eyes probing. She closed her eyes, pushing the thought away. When she opened them, Loghain was still watching her.

To her utter amazement, he did not reply with his usual sharp and biting manner. He didn't get angry or defensive. He nodded with a somewhat rueful smile, which took away her head of steam and left her adrift in a sea of questions. He completely disarmed her. Damn him and damn her anger for deserting her.

"I told Anora she should explain," he said and there was something akin to pride in his voice when he continued, "She didn't believe you would be willing to help, didn't think you'd understand the ramifications to her reign. I told her otherwise but I'm not sure she has ever really listened to me. However, it's not like her to underestimate people."

Flummoxed, Leonie sank down into a chair, shaking her head. Was the pride in his voice meant for Anora or herself? And did it really matter? She rubbed her forehead, willing the headache to ease. It remained stubbornly in place, and spitefully increased its intensity.

"I will never understand you," she whispered. "Why did you not tell me?"

Loghain leaned forward, his stern, sharp features softened by an almost tender expression. "When was there time, Leonie? When have we had ten minutes of uninterrupted time when we both had the mind for a political discussion?" he chided, reaching for her hands and squeezing them.

This new thoughtful and tender Loghain confounded her, made it difficult for her to hold on to her anger. She pulled her hands away and glared at him. "Do not try and charm your way out of this," she began.

Loghain arched a brow. "I can't recall anyone ever accusing me of using _charm_ in any form or fashion," he remarked wryly. His smile grew slightly.

"Do not let it go to your head, I did not mean it as a compliment," Leonie replied with equal dryness.

He was right. They hadn't had time to sit and discuss much of anything. Since her return from Denerim and Kinloch Hold, they had been busy with other concerns. Still, it stung that Anora hadn't trusted her. She thought they had established a rapport, a mutual admiration and trust. Apparently that was not the case. And it also stung that Loghain hadn't found the time to talk to her about it. She felt weariness creep into her bones, settling there, making her feel almost lethargic.

"Your daughter is much better at the Grand Game than I gave her credit for. I believed we had sown the seeds of friendship and trust," Leonie finally said, giving voice to the hurt.

"I think you have, despite this. She is a woman in a man's world and she'd be a fool to trust anyone too quickly," Loghain began. Leonie cut him off with a wave of her hand.

"If you make excuses for her, I shall personally flay you," she said quietly. "I will make this trip to Ostagar. I need to reach the heart of the Blightstorm anyway and Ostagar is on the way, yes?"

"It is. We should…" Loghain began and again she cut him off with a wave of her hand.

"How long a trip is it by foot?" she asked crisply.

"Three weeks from here, given the weather."

Leonie did some quick mental calculations. "Have Lieutenant Simmons choose a platoon of men to depart in three days. Phillipe, Travis, Anders and I will leave ten days later by horse. We should meet in…" she hesitated and went to the map of Ferelden that hung behind her desk. "Lothering," she finished, tapping the map thoughtfully.

"That will give Alistair and Sigrun time to return with Avernus before I leave. Maker's mercy, I cannot imagine how Avernus and Fiona will react to each other," she added with an unhappy laugh.

Loghain stood and came to stand beside Leonie. She could sense his disapproval and braced herself for his loud and vociferous voicing of said disapproval.

"So you're leaving me behind as punishment for not telling you about this?" he asked, his voice reproving, spiced with cool disbelief.

"You are only digging your hole deeper by attributing such puerile intent to my decision," she began coldly, stepping away from him.

Loghain made a rumbling sound of discontent in his chest. "You would have me send you with a man who is determined to make you his bride?"

Leonie's laugh was full of irony. "_You_ are not sending me anywhere, Loghain. I am going at the behest of Empress Celene and apparently Queen Anora as well."

Silence settled between them as she began to mentally prepare for the trip ahead. Finally, what he had said about Phillipe sunk in. "You do not trust me to turn his attentions aside?" she asked far more calmly than she felt.

Loghain moved away from her, walking to the window. "I do not trust my appeal as a husband," he said with surprising candor. Her head snapped to look at him. There was a vulnerability in him, one she had not seen before. Her mother's words from another time came to her.

…_I believe that marriage is the joining of souls between two people, a bond that exists within the Maker's sight because He chooses which souls fit perfectly together. Words and ceremonies don't change that bond…_

"I believe," Leonie began, her voice shaking slightly with the sudden intensity of emotion brought on by her memories. She cleared her throat. "I believe that I am already married to you in all but the eyes of the Chantry," she finished softly.

Loghain didn't speak, merely rested his forehead on the cool glass of the window, his eyes closed. His silence was heartbreaking to Leonie; she knew it was his own insecurity, his intense dislike of showing that insecurity to anyone, that kept him silent now.

"I do not think it possible that anyone can break the bond we share, my dear Loghain, despite _your_ best efforts," she continued, her voice gaining strength as she laid her hand lightly on his arm.

"Indeed?" he finally asked dryly.

"Exactly so, my love," she concurred, a smile curving along her lips. He really was the most infuriating person she had ever known but somehow that mattered less now than it had in the previous months.

"At least think about taking me with you. Nathaniel is more than capable of overseeing Warden business here, as is the princeling," he added, startling Leonie with that admission.

"I cannot imagine a trip to Ostagar would be a pleasant exercise for you," Leonie said and watched his jaw working as the tension formed along it. She leaned against him. "That is the reason I did not suggest you accompany me," she added, closing her eyes against the bright glare of the sun reflecting off the snowy landscape. Her headache was intensifying, becoming almost unbearable.

"How very noble of you," Loghain began in a harsh voice and then sighed. "I appreciate your concern, no matter how ill placed," he added and Leonie snickered at the ungraciousness of his remark, realizing that he was not used to the level of honesty and intimacy that was forming between them.

"You do not truly believe that I appreciate Phillipe's type, do you? Truly?" she asked, hiding a smile by turning her head away. She moved across the room, clasping her hands behind her back and continuing to try and hide her smile.

"I can't believe that **I** am your type," he replied somewhat stiffly and then rolled his shoulders, stepping back from the window and turning to look at her. "But you've been full of surprises from the beginning," he added with the hint of a smile gracing his angular face.

"Yes, on that we can agree," she responded, moving toward him. "I will consider your request to accompany me if you will promise not to kill Phillipe should I consent to your request," she said, only partly in jest.

"Don't ask the impossible and expect it to be given lightly," Loghain replied with a wry smile.

"On second thought why would I want the two of you on the same journey? You will be like two overgrown boys fighting over a prized possession," she grumbled as she took another step toward him. He met her halfway. It made Leonie's smile brighter to see him do that, lessened the tension in her shoulders.

"I don't consider you a possession. I can't imagine anyone foolish enough to think of you as a possession would be allowed to live for long," he added, slipping his hands around her waist and bending down to find her willing lips.

A knock on the door had them both growling in frustration as they separated. "A vacation. The two of us. One day," Leonie vowed in the few seconds before her door opened and Varel stepped in.

"Apologies, Commander. Warden Fiona is requesting an audience."

"Thank you, Varel. Show her in."

"I'm sorry, Commander, she is requesting an audience with Warden Loghain," Varel corrected quietly.

"In that case, she can wait a few minutes more," Leonie said with an unrepentant grin. Varel's lips twitched.

"As you wish, Commander," he replied with his usual stoic demeanor. He stopped before leaving and turned to her, his severe expression softened by a smile.

"I understand congratulations are in order, Commander. I offer my heartfelt felicitations," he said seriously. He turned his look on Loghain. Leonie felt as though a silent communication, one she did not comprehend, passed between the two men.

"I shall endeavor to entertain Warden Fiona until you are ready, Warden Loghain," Varel finally said and quit the room.

"Ah, she no doubt wants to thank me for my actions at Ostagar," Loghain said and the bitterness, never far away, was back, seated on his lowering brow. Leonie reached up and smoothed it away.

"No doubt and when she is done castigating you, I shall have a great deal to say to her on several matters," Leonie replied with a grim smile.

"Don't think you need to ride to my rescue," Loghain began and there was anger now mixing with his bitterness. Would he always be so blasted prickly? She shook her head, laughing lightly. The movement increased the pressure in her head, making her slightly woozy.

"Never in my wildest imaginings would I think you in need of rescuing," she replied. Yet that wasn't entirely true, she recognized. He did need rescuing; from himself, from the bitterness and self doubt that ate at him so hungrily at times.

Her headache was now almost blinding. She was becoming dizzy with the effort of focusing. Loghain, his face marred by concern, was speaking to her but she couldn't hear him above the sudden roaring in her ears. A steady pounding that sounded like the measured beat of an army on the march. A word, hung suspended in her brain, repeating itself over and over. _Maestitia_. The word was oddly familiar.

She felt dampness on her upper lip, smelled the sharp, coppery tang of blood, her nose seemed to be running. She wiped at it, saw there was blood on her fingers. The world tipped and shimmered as blackness began to wrap itself tightly around Leonie.


	31. Chapter 31

**A/N: **_A happy new year to all of you! And my continued and heartfelt thanks for the reviews and support as I wade through this story that seems to have a life of its own! I'm home again and company free so for the next few weeks updates should be coming more frequently. _

**Solitude**

"She's exhausted. The stress and pressure built up in her. There's nothing physically wrong with her that a few days of rest can't cure," Anders said, glaring at Loghain as if he was personally responsible for Leonie's current state. He supposed in many respects he was. But he'd be Maker damned if he would admit it to the mage.

Leonie's earlier words, frightened and pained, came to Loghain. _"She's lost."_ The words had been haunting then and seemed prophetic now. He sat by her side, resisting the urge to gather her in his arms. She was pale, the dark curls framing her face accentuating the alabaster tones. Violet smudges stained the skin under her eyes. She looked too small and fragile as she lay in their bed, her fingers curled into fists at her side, as if she was fighting someone or some _thing_.

He ran a weary hand over his face. No doubt she was fighting him. He'd been a complete ass in her office. As if that was news to anyone. He brushed her curls away from her face, resting his hand on her forehead for a moment. Her skin was cool and dry. His relief was immediate.

"What about the nosebleed?" he asked, turning his eyes reluctantly from her. "That seemed like more than just stress."

"A manifestation of her anxiety, I think. I really can't find anything wrong with her, Loghain," Anders replied seriously, casting a sympathetic look at him. Loghain wasn't sure he wanted sympathy but didn't say so. At least the mage was no longer glaring at him.

"Then we need to take away some of that stress," Travis said quietly, coming into the room with light steps.

"Good luck with that," Anders retorted glumly. "She's got so much going on right now and she just refuses to relinquish any of it."

"She will," Loghain promised, his voice softly pitched but steely with resolve.

"She should sleep for hours. If the nosebleed starts up again, let me know," Anders murmured on his way out of the room.

"Tell me you aren't here to say 'I told you so', Travis," Loghain gritted out, not moving from Leonie's side.

"No, I'm here to leave this decoction with you. When she wakes up, give it to her. It's made from cinnamon, sarsaparilla and dogwood bark. It helps with fatigue and anxiety," he whispered and then clucked, bending to rest a palm on the top of Leonie's head. He closed his eyes, clucking again.

"I'll look for her in the Dreamscape, but I'm not hopeful of finding her there. At least not right now. She's too far down to visit dreams," he said quietly.

"You'll need to go with her to Ostagar and on to the heart of the Blightstorm. It will prove a very difficult trip for her. For you both, I think. Remember that the two of you can overcome any travail, if you stay together," Travis added and then left, closing the door softly behind him.

Loghain rose and went to the door and locked it before returning to the bed. He quietly removed his boots. He should go and meet with Fiona but at the moment his concern was solely for Leonie. He slid under the covers and carefully gathered her close, stroking her hair with his callused fingers, feeling helpless to do more. She was limp in his arms, deep in slumber, a boneless creature. He held her for a long time, considering his blame in bringing her to such a state. She swore he was what she wanted and needed and Travis reaffirmed that but now, holding her exhausted body in his arms, he could not help but wonder if they were wrong.

Leonie stirred, mumbled something softly and sighed. He cradled her, trying not to hold on as tightly as he wanted to. Some part of him saw with vivid and painful clarity how deeply he kept hurting her. She had given him so much; a peace with his childhood he hadn't known in all the time since his mother had died; a chance to redeem his unholy past; to atone for mistakes so grievous the country was still recovering from them; a passion he had never before experienced and couldn't imagine living without now; a home in his beloved Ferelden; a future he had not expected to have and didn't necessarily believe he deserved.

What had he given her? Dropping a light kiss on her forehead, he closed his eyes and couldn't think of a thing. At least not in the way she had given to him. He constantly undermined her authority; he had allowed her to take the brunt of Nathaniel's ire when the young man had returned to Amaranthine; he had balked at almost every order she had ever given him; he had argued with nearly every decision she'd made. He didn't understand why he did it, he only knew that he had made her time as commander hellish.

He felt the unfamiliar sting of tears in his throat, burning at his closed eyelids and he forbade them to fall. He was not, by the Maker, going to cry now. He blinked and looked down to find Leonie's sleepy blue eyes watching him.

"You have a remarkably expressive face when you think no-one is watching you," she said with a sleepy smile. "Are you going to torment yourself because I am tired?"

"Someone needs to. You don't seem willing to," he replied in a gruff whisper.

"Perhaps tomorrow I will," she replied muzzily. She burrowed into him and sighed. "Or you could just accept that I do not care who you were or what you did in your past. I love you now, in this moment, and for all the foreseeable moments to come," she continued against his skin.

"Don't talk, just go back to sleep," he instructed sternly. He felt her breath come out in a gust of laughter, soft and warm on his neck.

"It is only when you _tell_ me what to do that I find I wish to be stubborn," she mumbled and he felt her shaking her head.

"Impossibly stubborn," he agreed, a whisper against her hair. "I love you," he added, surprising himself with how easily and naturally the words fell from his lips. He heard a murmuring sigh in response. Several moments of silence later, he felt her relax again and heard the steady rhythm of her breathing as she drifted off to sleep.

When he was sure she was sleeping soundly again, he carefully extracted himself and stood, looking down at her. She was still pale and her eyelids fluttered, a small frown forming. He hoped that Travis could help keep her dreams peaceful. He wished he could do something for her. He felt more than helpless and it wasn't a feeling he particularly enjoyed. His fingers trailed down her cheek and he was reassured somehow by the feel of her soft skin under his fingers.

After slipping his boots on, he went to the door and unlocked it. She should not be left alone. He wasn't entirely sure that what had happened was brought on by exhaustion. He was afraid, in the places deep in his soul that he rarely traversed. He asked a maid, hovering anxiously nearby, to fetch Varel.

"Is she alright?" Varel asked anxiously.

"Sleeping. Hopefully she will continue to sleep. I don't want her left alone. Find someone with at least minimal nursing skills to sit with her. I need to meet with Fiona and talk to Lieutenant Simmons and then I'll be back," Loghain instructed. "If anything happens, I expect to be informed immediately."

It was only when he was in command, issuing orders and formulating strategies that he felt confident in his own skin. That thought shouldn't have surprised him but it did. He had been defined for over thirty years by his duty, his military command. Without it he wasn't sure who he was. He growled in frustration, unwilling to waste time on such introspection at the moment when there were so many items requiring attention.

Senior Warden Fiona was in the library when Loghain finally found her. She was still a pretty, if austere, woman and one who still carried around a chip on her shoulder. Her greeting was not cool, it was starkly cold. He kept his back rigid as they made their way back to his office.

"I trust Leonie is recovering?" she asked coldly.

Loghain stared at her, his own expression matching hers icicle for icicle. "She is exhausted, not surprisingly. She's had her hands full since she took up command here and she is still trying to learn more about her blood. A task Weisshaupt seems unable to accomplish," he added harshly. If they were going to have an argument, he decided, they might as well fight about it all.

Fiona stiffened and shot him a look that would freeze the sun. It did nothing to him; he had suffered far worse. He raised a brow, waiting for her to say something. "We have been researching the properties of her blood for some time. It isn't as if the answers are lying about in some book," she replied in frost covered, sarcastic tones.

"No? Are you sure about that?" he asked with cold precision. "As many secrets as the Order keeps from those of us in the field I wouldn't be so sure."

"You arrogant, jumped up, overbearing, _murderer_," she hissed, no longer coldly angry. She was furious and the anger she had been holding in check for over twenty years boiled over.

Loghain blinked and then a mocking smile creased his features. He kept it there, a cloak against her venom. "Yes, all of those things and more. I abandoned my king and the Wardens. No matter that the battle plans were flawed and King Cailan wouldn't listen to reason. Or that charging into the fray would have decimated the entire army."

"You declared the remaining Wardens traitors and regicides! You put a price on their heads, on Alistair's head," she spat.

At this, Loghain had no defense. He had acted irrationally at the time, and to this day wasn't sure why he had done that. But he had compounded his initial mistake with so many more that the original reason mattered not a whit.

"You had Maric give Alistair to the Guerrins, left him to be raised in a barn like an animal," she continued, anger adding color to her pale skin. Her hands were clenched at her sides and he was sure she was holding her magic in check by sheer will alone. He could almost feel it in the air around them.

"You abandoned your son. You can hardly fault me for how he was raised," he responded acidly.

"Can't I? You were so busy protecting a dead woman's reputation that you condemned Maric's other son to the intrigues of a politically motivated man and later to his monstrous Orlesian wife," she spat.

Loghain's eyes narrowed and it took every bit of his self control, never his best asset, not to flinch at her words. That was exactly what he had done, protected a dead woman's reputation. He had also tried to save Maric and Ferelden from the uncertainty of a bastard prince's claim to the throne. From those who would use it to weaken Maric's legitimate heir.

"You were always jealous of Maric," she went on and he stopped her with a well placed growl.

"Don't presume to know how I felt about Maric or anyone else. You don't know anything about me," he snapped. "You left Maric with a threat to the throne while you went back to the Wardens to try and find the Architect. Twenty three years and it was Leonie who found him and killed him. Leonie, whose blood is still a threat to her. You've done _nothing_ to help her. You can sit in your laboratory and condemn me for the viper I am but don't forget your part in all of it."

She recoiled, as if he'd struck her. As he watched her, he saw her straighten and felt the pulse of magic in the air become heavier. She wanted to roast him, he was sure, but something in his words had startled her. The question was, what? He stood watching her through hooded eyes.

Finally, reluctantly, she spoke in a constrained voice. "I know Alistair left Ferelden just after you were recruited. Does anyone know where he is?"

Loghain blinked and this time he was the one who was startled. He tried to keep his face composed. Had word not reached her? Or Weisshaupt? Were they that clueless? His anger coiled thickly in his gut.

"Your son is alive only through Leonie's mercy. He terrorized her, kidnapped her, tried to kill her. She could have had him hanged for what he did. Instead she gave him a chance to redeem himself. He has more of Maric in him than Cailan did," Loghain was confounded to hear himself say and yet he knew it was true. Alistair, perhaps because he had been raised in a more harsh environment, was much stronger than Cailan had been. There were things about Alistair that he could at least respect and he had never found that to be the case with Cailan. It seemed a day for self revelation and he grimaced at the notion.

"Alistair is on his way to Soldier's Peak to pick up an old blood mage named Avernus. Maybe you've read the reports about him?" Loghain continued coolly.

She'd been so quick to blame others without acknowledging her own role in past events. He found he had to hold back a snort of derision at that thought. He recognized a fair bit of himself in her behavior. "They'll be returning in a week if all goes well."

Fiona was staring at him with a look that was both hostile and terrified. "Does he know who I am?"

Loghain shook his head. "I didn't even know the truth until recently. I believed he was the product of a serving maid at Redcliffe Castle. Alistair still believes that. Why wouldn't we? It's what Maric told us," he added succinctly.

At the news, Fiona's eyes widened and filled with tears that balanced precariously on her lashes. "Thank you, Maric," she whispered and Loghain watched as she fought for control of her emotions and won.

"I asked him not to reveal the truth. An elf, a mage, an Orlesian, and a Warden. Hardly mother material," she said with bitter acrimony.

Before Loghain could respond, Varel entered, his face pale with anxiety. "The Commander is…" he began but Loghain was already moving at a run. Anything else Varel said was lost to him as he bounded up the stairs.

The door to their quarters was open and he hurried into the bedroom. Both Anders and Travis were in the room. Leonie was curled up on her side, eyes wide and wild. Blood was trickling from her nose and she seemed not to be aware of any of them.

"Travis?" Loghain asked, going to kneel beside the bed. She hissed and moved away from him, a stranger caught in a nightmare he couldn't see.

"Not able to reach her," Travis replied and began a soft humming chant of some kind.

"Anders?" he asked next. "Can't you wake her?"

"_Proditio_! _Proditio_!" Leonie suddenly shrieked in a voice laced with pain and fury, guttural and feral.

Loghain felt his blood go cold in his veins. Everyone seemed frozen, unable to speak and then they were all talking at once. Anders was chanting, Travis was humming and Loghain was stroking Leonie's hand, trying to wake her with urgent appeals.

"She's speaking an ancient dialect of Arcanum," Fiona said, her voice calm and measured.

"Ancient Arcanum? Are you sure?" Anders breathed.

"_Maestitia_," Leonie whispered, her eyes filling with tears. Loghain gathered her up in his arms and held her.

"Leonie," he said sharply. "Wake up now," he urged giving her a rough shake. Her head lolled backward and then forward. His panic was beginning to eat into his common sense. He stopped shaking her and held on to her. Anders handed him a cold cloth and he applied it to her nose, trying to stem the steady dribble of blood.

"What is she saying? What does it mean?" he growled in frustration, turning his head to look at Fiona.

The elf's face was white and her brown eyes were large and fearful. "The first word means betrayal. _Maestitia_ means sorrow or grief," she whispered. She moved forward, her hand glowing with white, her staff raised. With a whispered incantation, her spell surrounded Leonie and Loghain. He felt a painful jolting along his muscles, a prickling of electricity wrapped in ice. He trembled involuntarily as the spell went through him but he continued to hold Leonie tightly. He felt the second Leonie was herself again, his relief coursing through him in waves.

"Loghain?" she asked in a hoarse voice. She glanced around at the circle of concerned people staring at her and then hid her face against Loghain's shoulder. "I had the most horrible dream," she continued weakly.

"You're safe now, Leonie," he assured her. She fell quiet, her voice and breath muffled by his chest as he pressed her tightly to him.

Suspicion came creeping into his blood and filtered into his brain. All the symptoms she was experiencing had started with the arrival of Delacroix and the Wardens. It seemed unlikely that Delacroix could be responsible but he wasn't so sure about the Wardens. Another shudder went through him. He wasn't sure her mind could handle another betrayal. He kept his thoughts and suspicions to himself for the moment.

"Anders, take Fiona to the temporary laboratory. Jarren is there this morning. Travis, brew some more of that decoction of yours. Varel, speak to Lieutenant Simmons about that matter we discussed earlier," he barked in a low, harsh voice.

Anders shut the door softly behind him, leaving only a disoriented and frightened Leonie and Loghain. He settled her on the bed. "It seems you've given up snoring in favor of screaming," he remarked dryly.

"I was afraid you might be tiring of the snoring so I thought a change might be in order," she replied with a wobbly smile.

He saw the struggle she was going through, the need she had to stay strong and not succumb to the fear. He bent to drop a kiss on her forehead. "Lean on me if you need to, Leonie. I won't let you fall," he promised.

She clung to him then, allowing herself to give in to the fear. She sobbed quietly against his chest. After a few moments, she sniffed loudly and pushed herself away from him.

"If you tell anyone I broke down and cried like a little girl, I shall skewer you with Lionheart," she hiccupped when her sobs subsided.

"If I tell anyone that my Commander gave in to the stress she was under you won't need to skewer me, I'll fall on my own sword," he replied with a hint of a smile.

Before more could be said, there was a soft tapping at the door and Travis appeared, carrying a tray with a steaming mug and a teapot on it. He made his way to them, smiling.

"I see you are better," he said approvingly. He placed the tray on the nightstand and turned to leave but Leonie reached out and grasped his arm.

"Thank you, Travis," she said warmly. He grinned at her and clucked softly.

"I'd take the nightmares away if I could," he said sincerely.

"Travis, sit with Leonie until I return. I have a few matters to attend to and then I'll be back," he assured Leonie as she began to protest.

He made his way to Varel first. "Have two guards posted outside Delacroix's room. Have a guard in the watchtower keep an eye on his window. He is not to be left on his own at any time," Loghain instructed. "And I want discreet guards posted outside of Warden Savine and Warden Fiona's rooms. Discreet. Have them in servants clothing. I want their whereabouts known and reported at all times."

"Commander Leonie already had me assign two guards to Delacroix," Varel replied. "As to the other, I'll get on it immediately."

"Any idea where Nathaniel is?"

"In the training room, I believe."

Loghain strode down the hallway and into the training room. Nathaniel was wiping the sweat from his face and looked up in surprise. "Leonie?" he asked, concern foremost in his expression.

"She's alright now," Loghain said without preamble and watched as Nathaniel let out a breath. "But I need you to enter the rooms of our latest guests. Look for anything you deem suspicious and report back to me. Needless to say they are not to know you've been there so wait until they aren't in their room."

"As you command," Nathaniel replied with quiet determination. "I'll let you know what, if anything, I find."

"Fiona is in the laboratory now so I suggest you start with her room," Loghain instructed before turning on his heel and making his way out of the Keep.

Lieutenant Simmons was already choosing his platoon when Loghain found him. "Make sure the men are well provisioned, it will be a three week trek each way and we'll be in Ostagar and the Wilds for some time."

"Aye, Ser. We'll be ready on the Commander's order."

Simmons was young but a military man from a military family. He was dependable, fast thinking and aggressive on the battlefield. Loghain thought the man's instincts were excellent and he trusted the young man. "I suggest one supply cart should do it. We can resupply in Lothering if need be. I've heard there are a fair number of merchants there now."

"Aye, Ser. I'll be bringing the best we've got, no worries."

After several other stops, Loghain made his way back inside the Keep and up the stairs. Travis was humming softly and Leonie, looking peaceful and well rested, was sitting up, drinking her decoction with a soft smile. It was a startling contrast to the woman he had left nearly an hour ago and he found his own mood lighten a bit at her expression.

"You look better," he remarked, settling carefully on the edge of the bed. She smiled.

"Next you will tell me I actually look pretty," she teased. Travis rose, placing a quick hand on the top of Leonie's head and closing his eyes. He mumbled a few unintelligible words and then stepped back.

"I'll check on you later," he said and was gone, leaving them alone again.

"And have you get all puffed up and conceited? I don't think so," Loghain replied when they were alone, a smirk taking up residence on his face.

"One compliment will hardly go to my head, Loghain," she returned dryly. "Or maybe, as you are so _sparing_ with them, it might. Perhaps not complimenting me is the right course of action after all," she agreed with feigned equanimity.

"Just so," he agreed, kicking off his boots one again and leaning back on the pile of pillows beside her.

He took her hand in his, rubbing at the bare spot on her ring finger. "Where is your ring?" he asked in as casual a manner as he could.

"I thought that it was time to put it away, Loghain. I would not wear it while betrothed to you. Why?" she asked, raising a brow at his unexpected question.

"It is the custom, in Ferelden, for the woman to wear a betrothal band, a symbol of a promise. Is it the custom in Orlais?" he asked, feeling an unusual sensation of butterflies in his stomach.

"It is. Although I admit in Orlais the ring is not a band so much as an ostentatious display of gems on a band," she replied with a smile. "We are a pretentious lot, we Orlesians," she added with a rueful shake of her head.

"So a band as plain as this, say, would probably not be to your liking?" he asked, opening his palm to display a wide silverite band with crossed swords etched into it. He slipped it onto Leonie's finger.

To his consternation, she burst into tears.


	32. Chapter 32

**Footsteps in the Dark**

They set up camp in a copse that protected them from the shrill, cold wind. A soft moon, blurred by cold and age, perched sleepily in the night sky. Darius was quick to make a fire and begin cooking dinner. As soon as the tents were up, the others huddled near the fire. Darius was quiet and deep in thought, as always. Sigrun grinned. She'd begun thinking of him as Darius the Dour. She wondered if he had ever, in his life, laughed. Her new goal was to get him to do so.

"Good thing Lion isn't here to cook. She once took a perfectly good rabbit, some herbs and a bunch of carrots and turned it into a charred lump that smelled like old shoe leather and was about as tasty," Sigrun said cheerfully, leaning over to smell the bubbling stew he was preparing.

"Really? The goddess who can do no wrong? I find that hard to believe," Karlin snorted, squatting down beside Darius. Sigrun successfully fought the urge to take the little hellcat in a chokehold and watch her turn purple.

"Yes, I'll just bet you do," Sigrun agreed sarcastically. "I bet you find it hard to believe anyone besides yourself is perfect. Shows how little you know about yourself," she added with a grin to offset the sting of her words.

She didn't understand gloomy, bitter people. She probably never would. She'd seen her share of horror, felt the biting, piercing agony of a jailor's whip. Known the grief of losing people she loved. Been beaten, starved and stabbed. Made decisions that had cost others their lives. So what? As Varlan had told her, screaming at the fates or ancestors or all the gods in the universe never changed your past, it only made you look stupid and weak. Embrace your new destiny, he had said as he held her one night, deep in the Deep Roads.

Karlin hunkered down by the fire and stared into the dark. "I don't hate her as much as I hate Loghain."

"You hate Loghain? Really? You hide it so well," Sigrun sniggered, helping herself to a skin of water. Darius made a snorting, snuffling sound and she slowly lowered the skin. Had he just tried to laugh? _Ancestor's tits, the man was grinning! __And not half bad looking with his eyes crinkled at the corners_. She raised the skin again, trying to take a drink around her own broad smile.

Maybe the trip wouldn't be that bad after all.

* * *

"Do not fuss over me like I am an invalid," Leonie muttered with a scowl, pulling her Warden tunic over her head. She needed to go to her office. There were two very important documents she needed to draw up and she wanted to go down to the dining hall and eat with her family. She wasn't asking to enter the Deep Roads alone, for Maker's sake.

"Would you rather I treated you like a stubborn child?" Loghain asked heatedly, coming to stand in front of her. "Because you're certainly acting like one."

Leonie bit back an angry retort. He was concerned for her well being and she understood that, appreciated his apprehension on her behalf. Hadn't she wanted him to care about her? Her thumb rubbed against her new ring. It was heavier than her old ring and she was still getting used to its weight but it represented something she cherished. She shook her head with a sigh.

"I would rather you accepted that I cannot lie in bed and wait for things to happen around me, especially if they affect me," she finally said calmly, not trace of her irritation in her voice. "You would not wish that for yourself, would you?" she prodded, giving him a dazzling smile. He was clearly not impressed.

"We aren't talking about me, Leonie. You fainted. You had nightmares we couldn't wake you from. You had nosebleeds. You spoke in a foreign language, a _dead _language. Now you want to go about business as usual?" Loghain rebuked incredulously, arms folded, eyebrow arched.

Leonie leaned up and kissed his grim mouth. "I appreciate your concern, Loghain but both Anders and Travis have said I am much better. My headache is gone. My nosebleeds are no more," she began but he stopped her with an angry wave of his hand.

"You have no sense of self-preservation at all. None," he growled. "Something is wrong. Until we determine what that something is, you're a fool to put yourself in harm's way."

Stepping back from Loghain, she shrugged, trying to dislodge his anxiety, distressed by his assumption that she didn't understand the seriousness of her situation. As much as she loved him, as much as she knew he loved her, _that_ was the fundamental problem in their relationship. He was overprotective of her and she, apparently, wasn't nearly as cautious as she should be.

She didn't want to become a hothouse flower, always standing aside for men to lead the way. It was not how she had been raised and not how she had lived her life. She wasn't sure she could change that aspect of herself and even if it was possible to change it, she would not want to. She was a warrior. She was a commander. She hadn't become either by allowing men to protect her. She bit her lower lip, trying to defuse the situation. Now, more than ever, she needed him to believe in her, in her decisions.

"Please, Loghain, sit and let us talk this out, yes?" she finally invited, moving to sit in one of the chairs placed before the hearth. He followed her, glowering darkly.

Leonie took a deep, steadying breath. The cedar and pine burning in the fireplace scented the air and there was a cozy cheerfulness in the room, softly lit by the fire and a few lamps. It was their refuge, their retreat from the world. Not, she thought wryly, that the world actually seemed to recognize it as such.

"I am a warrior, and a good one. I am a commander and, while I am not the type of commander you are, I am, nevertheless, a good commander. I did not learn these things by relying on the strength and intelligence of men. I learned these things by relying on my own strength and intelligence. You cannot expect me to change that. Nor, I think, would you want me to become someone I am not," she added softly, leaning forward to watch the subtle play of emotions in his pale blue eyes, almost grey in the dim light.

"You would not love a weak and timid woman," she continued, her smile tender as he dropped his eyes; his only admission that she was right in her assessment. "I love you and I do not want us to be separated, not by death and certainly not by our own basic differences. I will agree to be more cautious if you will agree to stop hovering over me like an anxious mother. You must have faith in my ability to lead."

Silence curled around them like smoke from a chimney. She sat back and waited for his answer, for a reply she could live with. During that space of time, in the bleak quietness between them, she held her breath. Her fingers played with her ring, an unconscious gesture that showed clearly her own disquiet.

"And what of this trip to Ostagar and the Korcari Wilds? Am I to be allowed to accompany you if I promise not to _hover_?" he asked, the barest trace of a wicked gleam in his eye.

"There are some types of hovering that are very much allowed," she responded with a smile that was both relieved and teasing.

"Now, let us speak of this no more. We shall let the lying dogs sleep, yes?"

His laughter, a sharp bark of genuine amusement, rang out and she rolled her eyes. "Just correct me and be done with it," she said, her own smile trying desperately to come out in answer to the infectious smirk Loghain wore with such ease but she held it back, affixing him with a raised brow to show her displeasure. He was not impressed, of course.

"You let sleeping dogs lie. I'm not sure what you'd do with a dog that lied," he responded, his smirk so firmly ensconced that she doubted it would leave any time soon. She reached out and tugged sharply on his braid.

"Vexatious man," she accused, trying to keep her answering smile at bay.

"So you have said on a number of occasions. Perhaps we should let that lying dog sleep," he commented dryly, surprising her into a huff of laughter.

Of course the laughter and teasing didn't last. A knock at their door, another interruption in a long line of interruptions, had Leonie opening the door to Nathaniel. A startled look followed by a relieved smile crossed his austere features.

"Commander, it's good to see you are well," he said with quiet warmth, hesitating in the doorway.

"Come in, Nathaniel. I am sure you wish to report your findings to Loghain," Leonie invited, opening the door wider. He moved past her.

"Findings?" he asked, trying to look confused. She shook her head and motioned him to sit in her chair as she went to perch on the arm of Loghain's' chair.

"Do not act the innocent, Nathaniel. Loghain would not be Loghain if he did not order you to search our guests' quarters," she remonstrated, softening her words with a brief smile. "Tell us what you have found."

Loghain nodded and Nathaniel, looking slightly uncomfortable, sat forward in his chair, hands open and resting on his thighs. Leonie watched as they curled and uncurled nervously.

"I didn't find anything of importance in Savine's room. He seems to be just what he says he is; Warden Fiona's escort."

Nathaniel shifted slightly, his grey eyes moving to stare into the fire. He was more than uncomfortable. He looked deeply embarrassed. "What is it, Nathaniel?" she asked, leaning forward. The chair tipped slightly. Loghain's arm snaked around her waist, holding her in place.

"Delacroix is…his room is…," Nathaniel began hesitantly. He sent a beseeching look at Loghain.

"Maker's mercy, Nathaniel, just tell us. Surely he did not bring his collection of erotica with him?" Leonie asked in jest. Nathaniel's cheeks became tinted a mottled pink as his eyes found a distant point above her head to fix on. Leonie's cheeks joined his as she realized that is exactly what Phillipe had done.

Loghain's predatory and possessive growl was the only sound for long moments. She didn't mind such items but she had certainly not intended to discuss the matter with Nathaniel, never mind Loghain. She could almost feel the heat of Nathaniel's blush and she glanced at Loghain to see his cheeks were not their normal pale color either. She bit her lower lip, trying to contain the sudden swell of laughter that threatened at the acute embarrassment they were all feeling.

"Was there anything else in his room?" Leonie finally asked in a voice that was reedy with embarrassment at having guessed correctly just what Nathaniel had found. She didn't dare guess again. Fereldans were very reticent about discussing such things and she could only imagine what Loghain and Nathaniel were thinking about her since she had correctly surmised what was in Phillipe's room.

"A ring, set with ten matching sapphires, worth enough to feed the arling for months," he said and shot a glance at Loghain to gauge his reaction. Leonie shook her head, glancing down at Loghain.

"Did I not say ostentatious and pretentious, Loghain?" she sighed, her eyes moving to look at her betrothal band. It perfectly reflected her just as it perfectly reflected her relationship with Loghain. He had somehow found the right ring for her and she had no idea how he had managed it but she loved him the more for it.

"Anything else?" she prompted as Nathaniel fell silent again.

"A letter from Empress Celene asking that he report anything unusual, but nothing specific. She also warned him…" Nathaniel began and then hesitated again. "She warned him that if the rumors were true about you and Loghain to be cautious because she had heard that Loghain killed his enemies and fed their remains to his Mabari."

Leonie's laughter escaped before she had time to stop it. She clamped a hand over her mouth and tears formed as she tried to hold back the wave that wanted to burst forth. "Perhaps to keep the dog from telling lies?" she finally managed, choking on another peal of laughter.

Nathaniel stared at her with trepidation. No doubt he thought she had finally succumbed to madness. Leonie shook her head, her giggles welling up and spilling over again as Loghain gave a short shout of laughter. Nathaniel's look of concern deepened.

"Do not worry, Nathaniel, I shall explain later," Leonie said, trying to catch her breath as a fresh paroxysm overtook her. She wiped at her eyes and strove for a serious expression. It wasn't really that funny and she knew it but the laughter was cathartic, her fear slipping away into the shadows, now just echoes of footsteps in the dark.

"I suppose he does not have anything lying about that says he is a spy and a killer?" she finally managed, wiping the tears away. Loghain shook his head, his arm still firmly around her waist. She was sure he was rolling his eyes at her.

"No, not exactly. He does have a vial that seems to be sealed with a magical ward which is odd because it's empty."

The laughter died, slain by the jarring return to reality. Loghain's arm tightened, his fingers digging in to her waist. "That bastard," he growled. She could tell his anger was coiled within him like a ravaging beast set to spring on its enemy. Given the least provocation, he would kill Phillipe, she realized.

"We do not know the vial is anything more than just a vial," Leonie began but her words fell limply into the disbelieving silence.

"Anything else?" she finally asked.

"Not that I found. The ring is in a secret compartment of his trunk. So is the vial."

"And Fiona's room?" she asked quietly, bracing herself for more bad news.

"Books. Lots of them. Several vials of blood. Two journals. The journals and one of the books are written in language I didn't recognize. She's made a lot of notes in the margin of the book.

"There are also several letters about Alistair," Nathaniel added, glancing first at Loghain and then Leonie. He was nervous again and his tongue flicked across his lips before he continued. "Written by Duncan over a number of years," he finally added and she could see he was nervous about her reaction and bewildered by the letters themselves.

"Yes, he was tasked to watch over Alistair, it is not surprising that he wrote to Fiona about him."

"Why would he do that?" Nathaniel asked, clearly perplexed.

"I must ask you not to repeat this to anyone, Nathaniel, as Alistair is unaware of it, but Fiona is his mother."

Shocked by the news, Nathaniel's grey eyes widened but he held his counsel. "Of course, Commander. You have my word on it." He uttered the oath with a quiet dignity. She was grateful for that.

None of them spoke after that, the silence broken only by the wood crackling in the fireplace with merry delight. They were all lost in their own thoughts, processing information, she was sure.

"Phillipe and I need to have a talk," she said finally, breaking the silence and provoking an explosion from both men.

"Nathaniel, if you'll excuse us," Loghain finally said, his voice sheathed in cold outrage.

"Of course," Nathaniel said gratefully and Leonie watched as he fairly ran from the room. The door clicked softly on his retreating figure. Leonie rose from the arm of the chair and walked over to lock the door. She turned, resting her back against it, watching Loghain pace in front of the fireplace, his face cold and implacable.

"You obviously didn't intend to actually act more cautiously, did you?" he asked in a clipped, cold voice.

"I will be cautious, Loghain. He does not want my death. He may want my blood but he does not wish me to die. I will speak to him, let him know that he shall not have any blood, nor my heart, nor anything else of mine," she explained in what she hoped was a reasonable voice.

"I wish you would trust my judgment at least some of the time," she complained quietly. How could he not understand that his constant questioning didn't undermine her authority nearly as much as it undermined her self-confidence?

"Use better judgment," he growled at her and it was like a shock of cold water to her face. She blinked, her ire ghosting along her muscles, tightening them.

"My judgment is not lacking, it just does not agree with yours," she retorted, hands on hips. Her lips twitched as her anger receded. A slight smile stole across her face and she moved to him.

"We are doing it again," she added, placing her palms on his chest to stop his angry pacing.

"I will not go to talk to him unarmed, Loghain. I rather thought you might be waiting in the hallway, ready to leap to my rescue should I call out for it. Maker knows, as a woman, I may very well need it," she continued sarcastically.

"You might have said so in the beginning," he snipped snidely, his tone no less frosty.

"And miss having a row? I think not," she replied with another ghost of a smile.

"You had absolutely no discipline growing up," he growled. Leonie saw the tension in him easing.

"So you say. As you were not there, I suggest you ask my mother that question when she comes to visit," Leonie responded, her smile growing at his sudden look of apprehension.

She turned and went to the door, unlocking it and stepping into the corridor. "Are you coming?" she asked with a smirk.

Phillipe was in his room when she knocked and she entered with as cordial a smile as she was able to muster. He was surprised to see her come to him alone and his grin was wolfish. She refused to look around the room in case she discovered his collection of erotica. She wasn't sure she could keep from laughing if she spied it.

"So you are not quite as immune to my charms as you led me to believe," he began, taking her hand and bowing over it, his lips sliding across her knuckles with feathery softness.

Leonie removed her hand from his and shook her head. "Phillipe, sit down. We must talk, yes?"

She watched his face harden, become wary, but he sat down across the small table from her. She smiled softly, kindly. He was not a bad man, just a noble who'd grown up believing his charm would get him whatever he wanted. In that regard he was no different than most of the nobles in Orlais, except that he was a gentleman. He would not take what was not freely given.

"I loved Duncan with all of my heart. You know this, yes?"

Phillipe nodded, his eyes never leaving hers. His hands rested lightly on the table and he wore a look of resignation mixed with hope. She suddenly felt badly for him. She reached across the table and rested her hand lightly over one of his in a gesture meant to be friendly and conciliatory. She hoped he took it as such.

"I thought I would never be able to love another. I thought my heart would not be able to mend because the pain was too great to bear. When I came here, I thought only to do my duty as a Warden, to continue Duncan's legacy here. But I discovered something about myself. About the human heart. It does mend. It grows stronger in the process and it opens itself to others.

"If any one of my friends had said I would fall in love with Loghain Mac Tir I would have laughed and denied it. I would have been furious that anyone whom I called friend would know me so little. I fought it, I fought my heart and cursed it as a traitor, cursed him for betraying the man I loved above all others. But my heart continued to guide me to him, even as I fought it.

"I love him, Phillipe. Maker help me but I cannot imagine my life without him for all that he is an ill-tempered, autocratic and taciturn man. He is the only man my heart wants. Do you understand?" she asked softly, squeezing his hand gently.

"But he is so much older than you, Lion, his taint will surely kill him soon. Might I hope to have your favor after a proper period of mourning?" Phillipe asked earnestly, all his earlier posturing falling away. She should be shocked that he made such a request but she wasn't. She had been raised in Orlais, knew the type of man he was.

Leonie shook her head gently. "He will not die before I do, I think. You have been around the Wardens enough to know that they reach a point in time where their taint takes control of them and they must go into the Deep Roads, yes?"

Phillipe's face contorted in anguish for her. Stripped bare of his usual arrogance, he seemed young and his face shone with a sweet kindness in that moment. She squeezed his hand again. "It is not such a bad thing, Phillipe. Do not be sad for me. Instead, I ask that return and find a suitable wife, yes?"

"Is there nothing I can do to change your mind, Leonie? Even if we don't have a long time together, I would like to try."

Leonie sighed. She removed her hand and rubbed at her temple. A headache was trying to form again and she was determined not to let it. "I suppose you brought a beautiful betrothal band with you?" she asked, glancing down at her plain band. Phillipe's eyes followed hers and the sneer, the inborn arrogance of an Orlesian noble came out again.

"Certainly better than that," he replied with a mixture of disdain and pride.

Wincing internally at the thought of Loghain listening outside and hearing that, she kept her own feelings tucked away. "Would you show me the ring?" she asked, looking at him from under a veil of dark lashes and sighing very softly. She hated herself in that moment, hated the way she was playing him, even knowing it was necessary.

"Of course, my lovely Lion."

She watched as he moved to his travel trunk and pushed the lid up. When he knelt down and began to fumble at a hidden lock, she stood and made her way to him, kneeling beside him. He smiled as he opened the hidden compartment and her eyes widened. He, no doubt, thought her surprise was because of the ring, a large and gaudy item. She was looking at the vial and trying not to show her relief at what she saw and her anger at herself for what she had done to him.

The vial with the magical wards was not what they had imagined it to be. It was an old fashioned courting vial. She had not seen one since she had stumbled across one in an old trunk in the attic in Jader. When she had asked about it her mother had blushed and refused to say anything, claiming Leonie was too young to understand. They had fallen out of favor early in Celene's reign.

She stood up, brushing at her tunic, embarrassed and ashamed, hoping he would never know how she had used him in those few moments. She had become the perfect bard in more ways than she cared to admit and the truth hit her powerfully, an almost physical pain.

"Thank you, Phillipe. I am honored that you chose such a lovely ring and I am sorry I cannot wear it," Leonie said sincerely and then stood on tiptoe to bush a light kiss on his cheek before hurrying to let herself out of the room.

She stood in the darkened hall, letting her eyes adjust to the gloom. She heard footsteps in the dark and then Loghain materialized, eyeing her warily as she swiped at futile tears.

"You will have to trust me that he is not here to harm me, nor steal my blood," she said in hushed tones as they made their way downstairs.

"You're sure?" he asked, frowning.

She nodded briefly and then entered her office. "I have only two letters to write and then I am returning to our room. I do not feel quite ready to face the others," she said quietly and shut the door on his inquiring look.

Trimming a quill, she wondered once again how she had let herself become such a master of the Game. She had used Phillipe's genuine affection for her as a weapon. She was no longer the Leonie Caron that Duncan had fallen in love with and she could not help but think he would not care overly much for the woman she had become. The thought made her eyes well with tears that refused to fall.

Blank vellum in front of her she began to write.

_I, Leonie Caron, Commander of the Grey of Ferelden, do hereby relinquish said command to my Second, Senior Warden Loghain Mac Tir. _

_I attest and affirm that I am of sound mind and am under neither physical nor mental duress at the time of this order. _

_This order remains in effect until such time as it is revoked, in writing, by the undersigned or the First Warden of Weisshaupt Fortress._

_Leonie Caron  
Warden Commander  
Ferelden_

Leonie affixed her seal beside her signature and pulled another sheet of vellum to her, beginning her letter to Magnus.


	33. Chapter 33

**Plans Great and Small**

Sigrun took first watch. Huddled in her cloak, blowing on her hands to keep them from freezing together in her furred mittens, she walked the perimeter of the camp with watchful eyes, if no real enthusiasm. Personally, she thought Karlin should be taking first watch. She had spent the entire meal complaining about what a right bastard Loghain Mac Tir was. The elf's hate and vitriol could keep her warm and awake for the entire night. In fact Karlin could take all the watches, just keep herself company with the sound of her own voice going on and on about the man's crimes in the Alienage.

To Sigrun's amazement, even Alistair had finally gotten tired of exchanging Loghain barbs and given himself up to a snack of cheese and biscuits before heading off to bed, leaving Sigrun and Darius to weather the "Loghain is evil" storm that Karlin generated.

Sure he'd been a bastard from all the accounts she'd heard. But history was full of men like Loghain. Men who had been forced to do the things nobody else would for so long that it leeched the life out of them. Or so Stig had told her when she complained about the possibility of Trian Aeducan becoming king.

Sigrun still didn't believe that Mella Aeducan, the middle sibling and the only one worth anything, had killed Trian. The man had generated hate much like Loghain had, there was probably a line of people waiting to kill him. And just like Loghain he had also had a group who thought he was a hero and the only voice of reason. Those were the old fashioned ones, the ones that thought everything in Orzammar was perfect. But Mella Aeducan had a reasonable and intelligent voice, she would have been a truly great queen. Besides it was too convenient for Bhelan to get both his siblings out of the way and become king. But the nughumping stone-chomping tool had proven a friend of the casteless which still confounded Sigrun.

Much to her surprise, because the dark, angry, vicious types were not for her, she actually liked Loghain. Once she'd figured out that he was a lot of bluff, a heavy dose of blunder and that he really loved Leonie, she stopped seeing him as some mythic monster/hero type and saw him as just another man. Human. And old looking. But a man. Just goes to show, people are stupid everywhere, Sigrun thought, munching her way through an apple as she continued her brisk walk around the perimeter before settling in front of the fire. She tossed her apple core into the fire and watched it sizzling into oblivion.

"That's an odd way to cook an apple pie," Alistair said, yawning. He was still strapping into his armor.

"Odd for you maybe. In Dust Town, that's high living," she replied with a grin.

Alistair, she decided, was like apple pie; sweet for the most part but with an unexpected tartness. She loved him, knew he would get along really well with Stig and wished she had developed some kind of romantic feelings for him but he was a younger brother and apple pie, and way, way, way too tall for her.

"So, you want Karlin to stop being so bitchy?" Sigrun asked casually as Alistair came to sit beside her.

"Is that even possible?" he asked with a boyish grin.

"Sure, but here's what you need to do…" Sigrun began and her cheeky smile grew broader.

* * *

Travis entered after a brief knock on her door and she smiled grimly at him as she sat at her desk. "Ah, Travis, I was just about to send for you."

Shaking his head, he sat down. "It isn't good news, is it?" he asked solicitously.

"Well, some will consider it such, I feel certain," Leonie answered, her grim smile turning wry. She handed him the orders she had just finished writing.

"I ask that you give these orders to Loghain when it is necessary. I think you will know when that is."

Travis shook his head and sighed. "Why?"

"The headaches are almost constant now. Anders says it is stress but I think he is wrong. There are signs I can no longer afford to overlook. I think my Calling is coming upon me," she admitted and was ashamed at how shaky her voice sounded. Her laugh was filled with irony. "I have always known what it means to be a Grey Warden. I have understood my duty and my end. Now," she paused and drew a deep breath, "Now that I have found love again, a reason to continue on, I find that it may not be possible."

Travis leaned forward, his eyes so intense that Leonie felt almost mesmerized by them, lost in an ancient wisdom she didn't understand but felt inside her. He held her gaze for long moments. "You probably have longer than you may think, Leonie. But it won't be easy. You'll go through trials that would break most people. But we both know you aren't most people."

With a gentle shake of her head, Leonie leaned forward. "I am not most people, but I am not sure my mind is always my own. I think the time for the orders is now and I am just afraid to admit it to Loghain and my Wardens," Leonie confessed, her voice unsteady. She rubbed at her wrist, staring at the man whose eyes were so compassionate.

"You don't want to hurt Loghain, to put him in the position of having to take command from you," Travis said with his usual insight.

"Yes. I would not wish to hurt him. He has lost so much."

"As have you. But you haven't lost each other yet, little one. Don't be in a rush to believe the worst. Have faith in yourself," he urged with such conviction that Leonie felt a cooling breath blow through her thoughts. She straightened in her chair, tilting her head to study her friend.

"You'll be the one to tell this to Loghain. You would want him to tell you if the roles were reversed, wouldn't you?" Travis asked, waving the document at her. Reluctantly, she nodded. She knew that she should, but her desire not to hurt Loghain had blinded her to her duty.

"Yes, as soon as I am done here. I am hopeful he will understand and accede to my wishes."

Travis frowned and rubbed thoughtfully at his jaw before handing the vellum back to her. "Keep this, give it to him. Let him decide when or if he needs to use it."

"I wanted to spare him that decision. I am concerned it might be too painful for him. I would not want that," Leonie explained, staring down at the vellum.

"It'll give him some control, Leonie. You know how much he depends on that, it's what gives him balance," Travis argued.

He was correct, of course. She had wanted to protect Loghain but perhaps she had wanted to spare herself as well.

"If something happens to me, Travis, watch over him. He thinks he is so strong and untouched by things but he feels them very deeply. They sit in his soul and eat away at him."

"No talking like that, Lion. You are stout hearted. Have courage," Travis chided, clucking softly, a soothing sound that helped Leonie find her calm again.

"You see our future, do you not? You can see what is in my soul even when I cannot," she said softly, only now becoming aware of how much he saw and how well he understood her.

Shaking his head from side to side, he looked at her, the appeal apparent in his expression. "I only see the possibility of the future, possible outcomes. Nothing more. I can't tell you what those possibilities are, Lion. Every breath you take changes the future."

Only slightly disappointed, but not at all surprised, Leonie nodded. "I will not ask that of you, I ask only that you promise to watch after Loghain if anything happens to me."

"That I'll do, should it become necessary," he promised and stood up. He stopped at the door and turned, a serene smile on his face. "You have each other. It's more than most and if you remember that, you can overcome a great many things. Quit forgetting it," he chastised with another serene smile.

Before she could ask what he meant, he was gone, leaving Leonie standing at her desk, the orders for Loghain in her trembling hands. She folded the vellum and slipped it into her pocket. Sighing, she put her quill away and straightened her desk. She was procrastinating. Loghain was waiting for her and she was too nervous to go to him. Shaking her head, she straightened and went in search of her seneschal. She was not some Orlesian wallflower. She had made a sensible decision and whether she liked it or not, her Second had a right to know why.

Leonie gave Varel the letter she'd written for the First Warden, now sealed and in a small leather case. He didn't ask what was in the case and she didn't offer but he frowned at her, as if he did know, or at least suspected.

"Is there anything you need, Commander?" he asked quietly.

Leonie looked into his kind eyes, fighting the urge to throw herself into his arms and ask for a fairytale with a happy ending. Instead she smiled and asked, "Would it be possible to keep everyone away from our quarters for an hour or two?"

Varel smiled and nodded. "As you wish, Commander Leonie. I'll make sure you are undisturbed." She hugged him briefly, knowing it embarrassed him but also suspecting that he wasn't _too_ embarrassed. With a smile over her shoulder for him, she mounted the stairs.

Loghain was sitting in a chair by the fire, staring into the flames as if _he_ could see the future in their flickering depths. She knelt beside his chair and placed her cheek on his thigh, closing her eyes briefly. His hand came to rest on her nape, rough fingers stroking softly. He was lost in thought or memory and she had no wish to disturb him, she only wanted the warm reassurance of his touch.

Almost an hour went by with no word spoken, no movement, save for his fingers brushing softly at her skin. No tension, no arguing, no interruptions. It was a blessing; a gift that Leonie quietly savored. Finally, just as she was drifting along without clear thought, he spoke.

"I suppose you're not going to tell me about the vial?"

There was dryness in his voice, a touch of accusation, a hint of resignation. She smiled and raised a hand to capture his fingers, pulling them closer against her skin, to her mouth where she kissed them softly before pushing herself up and moving to her own chair.

"It is a courting vial, Loghain. Surely that is all you need to know."

Her words were a gentle sigh that sat quietly between them. He didn't pursue the matter immediately and she was grateful. She also knew him well enough to know that it was not the end of the discussion.

"Then I suppose you aren't going to explain what letters were so important they couldn't be written tomorrow?" he continued.

Taking a deep, steadying breath, she pulled the vellum out of her pocket and quietly handed it to him. "Please do not throw this in the fireplace or I will be forced to go back downstairs and rewrite it," she implored.

Leaning back in her chair, Leonie closed her eyes, waiting for the storm to break over her head. When it didn't come, she opened her eyes and looked at Loghain, an inquisitive frown furrowing her brows.

He was surprised, but the denials and anger she had expected were not present. He met her look with one that was surprisingly calm. "You think you're not fit for command," he stated quietly. "Is it that bad?"

"That is the question, is it not? I know that I cannot control my headaches. I cannot stop the nightmares. I cannot afford to wait until I am a mindless ghoul to turn over command, can I?" she answered. A single tear slid down her cheek, caught golden by the firelight, before dripping from her jaw.

Loghain moved, swift and sure, to kneel in front of her chair, grasping her chin and meeting her eyes. His gaze was piercing, looking past her fragile walls and deep into her soul, where her fear sat waiting to devour her.

"Fight it, Leonie. Fight with everything you have," he commanded in a rough, tight voice. "Or, by the Maker, I will pull you out of the Fade myself if it comes to that," he continued vehemently.

Her eyes slid away and another tear, hot and heavy, rolled along her cheekbone. "I am afraid," she whispered, giving voice to the shadows. "I do not think I can win this battle," she finally admitted but the tears that were hiding behind her eyes refused to fall.

"You can, damn you! You will!" he growled. His hands moved to her shoulders and he gave them a surprisingly gentle shake, his face stern, his voice commanding. "You are the Lion of Orlais, you can win any battle. Isn't that what the Orlesians say about you?" he asked. "Are they liars? Are you? You said you would fight and now you're giving up. Are all Orlesians liars?" he asked, his anger a ferocious beast as he gave her another shake, not quite as gentle as the first.

Leonie leaned in close to Loghain. "I am doing what is right, Loghain and this you know. I will fight, I will fight until I have nothing left to fight with but that does not negate the fact that I am no longer fit for command," she said on a deepening note of anguish.

Duncan had charged her with building and guiding the Ferelden Order and she was disappointing him, disappointing Riordan. Grief slammed into her chest, making it impossible to breathe for a space of time that seemed eternal. She had failed them, failed herself, she was failing to keep promises made to those she loved. Still the tears would not fall.

"The talk earlier was about this, wasn't it? You wanted to make sure I would just accept this decision," he accused, his voice now stark and bleak.

"No," Leonie replied, cupping his cheek. "I meant it but I saw something that I could no longer ignore." She leaned close again, bringing her lips to his and kissing him tenderly.

Loghain closed his eyes and leaned his forehead against hers. "What?" he finally asked and his voice was wary and reluctant.

Leaning back, Leonie pulled at the sleeve that covered her left arm, baring her wrist. A gray splotch, no larger than a silver piece, marred her pale skin. A tainted patch of skin that shouldn't be there, but was. A reminder that her time was finite. She needed to press forward but she was afraid; afraid to look back and see death nipping at her heels. Afraid to look forward and see what she would become.

Loghain's breath came out in a hiss. "That wasn't there earlier, I would have noticed," he said and his voice crackled like parchment left too long in the sun. Brittle.

"It appeared while we were on our way to Phillipe's room. I felt my skin burning and then it felt as though my blood was trying to come out of my skin there, the sensation I feel when darkspawn are present. I knew, without even looking, what had occurred. But I looked anyway because I did not think it possible."

"All the more reason to keep fighting," he said and his voice was stronger, more confident. He stood, offering her his hand and she took it. Without a word, they made their way to their bedroom.

With fingers that were surprisingly steady, she began to undress Loghain, her lips finding the salty taste of his skin oddly comforting as they trailed along his bared chest. She traced along an old battle scar with her tongue and then up, lips soft against his corded neck.

"I love you, Loghain Mac Tir," she whispered against his ear.

"And I you, Leonie Caron," he replied in a husky voice, his fingers now intent on undressing her as well.

* * *

Anders stood on the threshold, nervously smoothing his robes, brushing at imaginary cat hair. He had decided that this was the day he would tell her how he felt about her and the thought made his mouth as dry as dust. _Anders, the Wonder Chicken; able to kill scores of darkspawn, felled by his own feelings_. He shook his head and tugged at his earring. Grab your balls and jump, Jarren had said. Well sure, he could do that, no problem. Until he landed face first on the hard ground.

Aura was bent over her account books, biting at her lower lip as one slender finger ran down the page. Lamplight cast a warm glow across her features, softening them and he knew she would look up and her blue eyes would be filled with mirth and warmth. But did she care for him like he cared for her? It wasn't like he was the best husband material. Or that he even knew how to be a husband. Was there a manual somewhere? He smirked at the thought of asking Loghain for advice on the matter. That would be a fun conversation, no doubt.

Yet Loghain had managed to woo Leo and was now, in fact, going to marry her so obviously he had some insight into women that Anders lacked. That was a galling, appalling thought. He snickered softly, imagining a conversation with Loghain that started with, "Da, tell me how to make a woman fall for me," and ended with, "You haven't got a chance, mage."

"Anders," Aura said without looking up. There was a smile in her voice. "Let me just finish this column of numbers," she added and continued nibbling at her lower lip. A lower lip, Anders thought with longing, that he would not mind nibbling either.

"Sure, sure. Take your time," he said breezily and flopped into a chair on the opposite side of the table. Distance was good. She couldn't slap him for his effrontery from across the table. Of course she couldn't throw her arms around him either. Distance was bad. He shifted and moved to the chair beside her, trying to look casual and relaxed. Well he was, to a degree. Right up until the time she closed her account book and focused on him.

"What is it that has you looking so serious today, Anders?"

"I don't want to be friends," he blurted out and then watched as her expression darkened and her eyes teared up.

"I see," she said softly, folding her hands and looking at him with hurt eyes.

_Andraste's knickerweasels! What had he just said?_ "No, no! Dear lady, I want to be more than friends," he said rather frantically. "I mean I want to…that is…" he mumbled, a disgrace to every suave and debonair bone he'd ever thought he possessed.

"Oh Anders, just kiss me, for Maker's sake," Aura said with laughter punctuating her request.

Well that, Anders thought smugly as he brought his face close to hers, went very well.

* * *

Loghain disentangled himself from Leonie. She murmured sleepily and rolled over. "Where are you going?" she asked, trying to sit up.

"To order dinner in our rooms," Loghain lied, dropping a light kiss on her swollen lips.

Their lovemaking had been almost primal, both of them trying desperately to hang on to each other and both trying to show the other how much they needed each other. He saw that he had left a large mark on her neck. He kissed it softly in apology.

"I'll be back in a bit. Go to sleep," he ordered and she raised a brow at that.

"Already taking advantage of your new command, I see," she said around a yawn and raised her arms to pull him down for another kiss.

"I am and you'll do well to remember it," he said with a huff of self importance. It had its desired effect as she laughed lightly.

"Yes Commander Loghain," she teased and then closed her eyes.

He brushed her hair away from her face and stood for a moment, watching as she drifted off, before pulling on his clothes and going in search of Fiona and Jarren. He was, by the Maker, going to get answers.


	34. Chapter 34

**Blood of the Martyr**

Loghain was livid. His anger propelled him onward, it burned hotly in his veins, blood nearly at the boiling point as he made his way to the temporary laboratory. The sharp edge of the anger was focusing his mind, turning it away from the 'what ifs' that seemed to be persistently pounding away at his mind. He couldn't afford to deal in possibilities; he had to attend to reality. Echoes from the past chased him as he strode along the corridor.

In the time he had known Leonie Caron she had never given up on anyone. She had taken him in and shown him how to let go of his anger and bitterness. She had shown him how to love again. She had taken an acrimonious young noble and reminded him that he was still noble in the ways that mattered most. She had given Maric's bastard a chance at redemption. She had given a pregnant widow a home and a reason to keep living. She had refused to believe any one of them was unworthy. If he had any real belief in the myth of the Maker, he would curse Him now for His desertion of a woman who didn't deserve the fate now rushing headlong at her. He would not allow her to give up on herself and he wouldn't allow anyone else to either.

Something had changed in Leonie's blood. She had claimed her taint was progressing at a much slower rate than most Wardens. That was the reason Weisshaupt had kidnapped her, to discover how to create a Joining that would enable all Wardens to resist the taint longer. So why had it suddenly accelerated? And when? Loghain searched his mind for a clue, a memory that might aid in the discovery of what had changed.

The answer came to him with quiet authority; the trip to the Deep Roads to see what would happen when the blood from Svanar mixed with her own. Somehow, something had happened to her. She'd complained of a severe headache and she had heard a song. Was the combining of her blood with the Architect's blood the cause? But that couldn't have been the source of the two episodes earlier in the day. She had told Jarren not to mix the blood without her approval and as far as Loghain could remember, no such approval had been given. Surely the mage wouldn't continue on his own? Or would he? His suspicion that Jarren might do so caused Loghain's strides to lengthen as he neared the laboratory. His rage continued to mount.

By the time he arrived at the laboratory, his anger was jumping like living flames along his nerve endings. Loghain slammed into the temporary laboratory, throwing the door open with such ferocity it bounced against the stone wall with a resounding crash. Jarren's tawny head was bent over a small dish and he held a vial of blood in his hand. Fiona was beside him, watching carefully as Jarren began to tip the vial. Both heads snapped in his direction.

"Stop!" Loghain roared.

Jarren's hand hung suspended over the dish, vial still tipped. "I wanted to demonstrate the movement to Warden Fiona," Jarren protested, staring at Loghain with an owlish expression.

"The Commander told you not to mix the blood without her permission. Did I miss her visit here or your visit to her room?" Loghain snarled furiously, moving forward and placing an iron grip around the young mage's wrist.

"Unhand him at once, Loghain!" Fiona commanded coldly. "I gave him permission."

"You're killing her!" Loghain accused. He took the vial out of the mage's hand and glared at Jarren.

"How many times have you done this without permission?" he demanded. Jarren's eyes slid away from him.

"How many?" Loghain demanded, his voice wreathed in fury, a burning blade scraping against stone. He took only one menacing step closer to the man before Jarren spoke.

"Twice," Jarren admitted, staring down at the dish.

"When?" Loghain prodded, although he already knew the answer.

"Once this morning and then a few hours later. I was attempting to alter the harmonics," Jarren confessed quietly.

Loghain's fist twitched. It wanted to slam into Jarren's face and Loghain wanted it to do so. That, however, would do nothing to help the situation. He carefully set the vial down and stoppered it before he turned his wrath on Fiona.

"You don't have the authority to give him permission to wipe his nose, and you certainly don't have the authority to conduct experiments here."

Fiona eyed him with frosty brown eyes. "I believe that's Leonie's decision, not yours," she said coldly.

Loghain withdrew the orders from his pocket and thrust the vellum at the elven mage. She read them and then read them again.

"Why would she do this?" Fiona asked with a quiet curiosity that didn't mask the venom she directed at Loghain. There was an unspoken accusation in her question. It did nothing to soothe his anger.

"You saw her this morning. Saw the nosebleeds, saw that we couldn't wake her from her nightmares. And now, thanks to your ignorance, she's showing outward signs of her Calling."

Fiona's pale face turned ashen at the news and she stepped back from him. "I'll go and speak with her," she mumbled and turned to do just that.

"She's sleeping. Wake her at your own peril," Loghain threatened, shifting his gaze between the two elves.

"Do not mix her blood with Svanar's again without my permission. I don't care if you have orders from the Maker himself, you will not do it," Loghain ground out between clenched teeth. "Do I make myself clear?"

"Abundantly," Jarren said softly, moving away from the table. It was then that Loghain noticed the journals. The last time he had seen them they had been sitting on the desk in the quarters that he and Leonie shared. His anger, which had been slowly fading, leapt to life again.

"I hope, for your sake, that Leonie actually gave you those to study? I would hate to think you took them on your own." His fiery anger had turned to stone and ice.

"I took them. I don't need her permission or yours. They are rightfully the property of the Grey Wardens. I am acting on the orders of First Warden Magnus, whose authority supersedes yours," Fiona replied in tones no less icy and stony.

Loghain's fists tightened again, twitched. Wanted to break something. He breathed deeply and tried to rein in the need to hurt the woman before him. "Perhaps it's time for you to explain the real reason for your visit," he said in a voice that was cold and lethal.

Fiona nodded once. "Somewhere privately," she said curtly.

"My office, ten minutes," Loghain growled and turning on his heel, leaving before someone got hurt.

He found Anders, sitting with Aura in the kitchens, a pot of tea and scones between them. Aura gave him a warm smile. "How is Lion, Warden Loghain?"

"I don't know," he answered honestly. "Anders, I need you to sit with Leonie. She's sleeping but I don't want her to be alone."

"On it," Anders snapped, standing and placing a hand on Aura's shoulder. He squeezed it gently and then left. Loghain turned, leaving just as quickly as he had arrived, heading to his office. Fiona was waiting for him, standing outside the room.

Once they were in the office, Loghain began to speak but Fiona held a hand up. "I won't go into my history, Loghain. Not for you. But how you feel about Ferelden is how I feel about the Wardens. I will do whatever is necessary to protect their interests," she stated passionately. It did not dissuade him from his course.

"Let me assure you, madam, what I did to protect Ferelden pales in comparison to what I'm prepared to do to protect Leonie," he replied coldly.

Still she hesitated. Loghain stood, towering over her, using his height to intimate her. It failed to do so, much to his ire.

"You have one minute to start talking or I will find the darkest, dankest cell in our dungeons and place you in it until you are willing to talk."

"You're bluffing," she accused, eyes narrowed. He could feel the hum of magic stirring the air currents.

"Am I? Think very carefully about that, Fiona. You've seen what I'm capable of in protecting my own," he reminded her, implacable and resolute.

She studied him, her large brown eyes penetrating. He held her gaze, hoping his resolve was evident. Finally she shrugged and dropped her eyes. Rather than feeling any sense of victory or satisfaction, he felt only relief mixed with trepidation.

"Don't hold anything back. The time for secrets has long passed," he instructed in those same deathly cold tones.

Fiona took her time. She paced the room in small, even steps. She paused briefly in front of the fireplace and stood there for several minutes under the guise of warming her hands. He suspected she was gathering her thoughts and trying to find a truth that wouldn't give away too many secrets.

Loghain found it difficult not to yell in frustration. Finally, just as he was about to bang on his desk to get her attention, she turned and came to sit in a chair across from his desk, perching there with a birdlike grace.

"I believe, based on my research, that Leonie's blood is more powerful than any of us first realized," she began quietly. Loghain's heart slammed into his chest and began to beat loud and quick in its prison. He wasn't frightened by her words, it was the look of sorrow, of anguish, in her eyes that made his heart refuse to beat properly.

"Go on," he urged around a mouth gone dry.

Fiona frowned at him. "What I'm about to tell you is of a sensitive nature, Loghain. I don't have the authority to share this information with you so I'll need some assurance that you'll keep it to yourself. Share it with Leonie if you feel you must, but nobody else is to know. Do I have your word?" she asked softly, voice steely underneath the softness.

Loghain nodded once and bade her continue, his patience thinning as he waited for her to speak again. She hesitated, staring down at her clasped hands before looking back up at him, meeting his gaze.

"After Leonie left Weisshaupt, I began to search through the archives for some hint of what was slowing her taint, what was causing her blood to be different than the other Wardens who had taken the Joining. The only mention of something similar referenced a work by a mage, written in ancient Arcanum. I traveled to Cumberland to see if there might be any information in the College of Magi's libraries. I found the treatise, proposed by a mage scholar named Tharoneus the Mystic. It was written in ancient Arcanum, a language nobody had spoken for hundreds of years. There was a translated version but I decided I needed to learn ancient Arcanum, to ensure whatever was in the translated version was correct."

Fiona paused, hands held tightly together. Loghain's dread was now a beast that ate away his anger. Jarren had mentioned Tharoneus the Mystic and his treatise. Loghain had thought it farfetched at the very least. Harmonics and blood magic? Preposterous. And yet, he had no better explanation.

"After I came back, Magnus allowed me into the First Warden's archive, where all the most important records are kept, the ones that hold the secrets of the Wardens. Much of it is written in the language of the time, indecipherable. But some is written in ancient Arcanum, the original language of the Tevinter Imperium.

"Years after the second Blight a group of Wardens began to experiment with the Joining formula, trying to find a way to communicate with the darkspawn. They thought if they could do that they might prevent future Blights." Fiona fell silent and the only noise in the room was Loghain's own heartbeat, loud in his own ears.

"Continue," he ordered curtly.

"The experiment was only partially successful. Three Wardens survived the process but they were transformed, the taint racing through them. Within a matter of weeks they began showing signs of their Calling and were sent to the Deep Roads. All claimed they could understand the darkspawn and one even claimed he could calm them.

"Three days after the men were sent into the Deep Roads, the Wardens went in search of them, expecting to find the remains of the tainted Wardens. They didn't. They discovered one of them, barely alive, but conscious and coherent.

"The tale he told seems impossible to believe. I wasn't sure I believed it until now. But he claimed he had become a darkspawn, talked to them, commanded them, but only for a short time before he began to transform again. He was half mad, the document claimed, in great pain. The other two men had disappeared, but not before they had transformed as well.

"The Wardens spent a great deal of time looking for the other two but never found them. There were whispers, rumors about talking darkspawn from time to time, but nothing substantial. In time it was forgotten."

Fiona paused, leaning forward, the expression on her face inscrutable. Loghain found himself denying what she was saying as something out of a grim fairytale; another Grey Warden lie, but he couldn't dismiss it. Even as much as he wanted to, there was something compelling in Fiona's voice, in her words, lending credibility to the story.

"And you think somehow that Leonie's blood has the same ability?" Loghain finally managed to say.

"When we found the Architect, I thought he was a sentient darkspawn, the first of his kind. He believed that of himself, why wouldn't I? I didn't know about these others. It's believed, according to texts, that the third Blight was started by one of those two remaining Wardens, which started only three years after the experiment. The postulation at the time was that the process, the transformation from human to darkspawn and back to human, was more than the mind could bear, that madness was the only possible outcome, in part because of a hate that was born from a sense of betrayal.

"Leonie's list of words, taken from the journals, bears that out. The darkspawn now feel that betrayal, the grief, the hate. And sorrow. They are searching for a leader, from the sound of it. A savior. Apparently the Architect felt those things, either from the darkspawn collective mind or perhaps he infected that mind with his own hatred and madness.

"For all that he claimed to wish no-one harm, he aligned himself with traitors. He couldn't understand simple human emotion anymore. His mind must have been so twisted by the process and even more so during the transformation back to some type of human."

"How? How could this happen to others who didn't undergo the experimental Joining? How could it affect people hundreds of years later?" Loghain asked, still disbelieving, still needing to disbelieve. What she was suggesting, what she had told him, was beyond improbable, beyond impossible.

"We don't know. Or I don't. But it may very well be that Tharoneus is correct and blood harmonics are at work. An unfortunate twist of fate that her blood responds as it does. Maybe the experimental Joining, the blood of those Wardens who underwent it, infected the darkspawn, some of them at least. Why is less important at the moment than finding a way to stop the process from happening with Leonie."

"You're afraid she is a danger," Loghain said with a sudden rush of insight. Of course she was. She was there to bring Leonie to Weisshaupt. The question was why. To experiment on her? Track her transformation and interactions with the darkspawn? Or kill her? Leonie represented a Grey Warden secret that could devestate the Order. Loghain wanted to laugh at the absurdity of Fiona's claims but he found he couldn't. He understood duty, understood why Weisshaupt wouldn't want word of the experiements out. Staring into Fiona's eyes he saw that she absolutely believed what she was saying.

"She _is_ a danger. She is powerful. If I'm correct…" Fiona trailed off, looking down again at her clasped hands.

She stood again, walking around the room once more, refusing to look at him, unable to remain still for more than a few seconds. It was apparent that she cared for Leonie, obvious that the news distressed her greatly and that did nothing to alleviate Loghain's rising fear. His impatience gave way to a sudden desire not to know, not to hear what she was going to say. Finally, Fiona settled into her chair again and leaned forward. There was compassion in the gaze she leveled at Loghain, and regret. But even more apparent was the fear that shone in them. A fear that collided with his own mounting dread.

"I believe she has the power to command the darkspawn horde. Or will very shortly."

* * *

Anders was sitting in a chair, drawn close to the bed, when Leonie awoke. She blinked at him, surprised to find him there. He grinned broadly, leaning forward. "You were right. Talking to Aura did the trick," he said happily.

"You came into my room while I was sleeping just to tell me this?" Leonie asked, struggling to sit up. Her brain was fuzzy, blurred by how deeply she had been sleeping.

"Are you insane? Loghain would tear me into little tiny pieces if I did something like that. He might anyway, the mood he's in," Anders confided, reaching out to place a hand on hers. "And you'd better not move if you know what's good for you," he added, removing his hand and resting it briefly on her forehead.

"Oh Maker, what has happened now?" she asked wryly.

"He and Fiona are in his office with the door shut. He came out long enough to order me to sit with you and that was an hour ago. He looked like he could…well, like he could easily kill someone. Or maybe not easily. Maybe gladly would be more apt. I didn't really want to stick around and find out."

Leonie felt strangely lost, unsure now that she had relinquished command, what she was supposed to do and for a woman whose entire life had been defined by duty it was very unsettling. She felt a restlessness in her spirit. An agitation. She neded to do something, anything.

"You need not stay, Anders. I am awake and still myself, am I not?"

"Is it true that you resigned as Commander?" he asked, unusually forthright and serious.

Leonie winced. "I have relinquished command for the moment, until my health issues have been resolved. It is not permanent," she replied quietly, hoping that her voice hadn't really trembled as much as she thought it might have.

"Really? Because, you know, he's a bit scary. Especially when he's mad. And he's mad most of the time," Anders complained, hazel eyes wide and guileless.

Leonie chuckled. "He is only mad occasionally, Anders, and only when provoked. Do not provoke him and you have nothing to worry about, yes?"

"Well that's hardly reassuring," Anders replied, standing.

"I am happy for you and Aura. I ask only that you do not hurt her. If you do, Loghain's ire will pale in comparison to mine," Leonie teased, summoning a smile. He returned her smile and gave her a quick salute.

"More likely she'll break my heart. This love thing is tricky business."

Laughter spilled out of Leonie but it was not an entirely happy sound. How well she knew about the tricky business of love. She watched as Anders went out and a few seconds later she heard the door click.

Slipping into her wrapper, she went to the window and looked out at the moon-scarred landscape. Obviously Loghain had done more than see to dinner. Her stomach rumbled in complaint. She could only imagine the havoc he was wreaking at the moment but she had given him command because she trusted him and that hadn't changed. Standing at the window bemoaning fate wasn't getting her any closer to answers she thought in disgust and went to her desk to gather up Svanar's journals.

They were not where she had left them and a quick search of the room proved that they were gone. She began pulling on clothes, determined to find Loghain and ask what he had done with them. She had just slipped on her soft boots when the door opened and Travis stood on the threshold, staring at her in surprise. A look she returned.

"Travis?" she inquired, standing up.

"Leonie, I thought you'd still be sleeping. I just wanted to check on you," he explained, an embarrassed smile pulling at the corners of his mouth.

"Awake, hungry and feeling a bit better."

Travis nodded and clucked, coming forward to stand in front of her. "What is it, Travis?" she asked quietly.

"I just wanted to check on you, little one," he began and she laid a hand softly on his shoulder.

"You are very good at a number of things, friend, but lying is not one of them. What is it?" she chided gently.

"Be strong," he warned simply and turned, hurrying from the room. Leonie shook her head, unable to understand the shaman and the reason for his visit. She was strong. She would stay strong. She hoped.

* * *

Loghain sat at his desk, watery moonbeams slanting in through a window the only light. He should be sitting with Leonie, or at least bringing her something to eat, but he found he was unwilling to move. The gloom, the long shadowy fingers of light and dark that shifted and shimmered around his office, perfectly matched his mood.

Travis had warned him that Loghain would break Leonie's spirit. The question he kept asking himself was if it was telling her what he'd learned from Fiona that would break her spirit or withholding the information and having her somehow find out about it. The betrayal of that would most certainly break her spirit. Tell her and risk losing her? Keep it from her and have her find out some other way and risk losing her?

He wanted to tell her. She would be more willing to fight if she knew what she was fighting. He didn't want to tell her. The news would devastate her and he was afraid she would lose her will to fight it if she knew about the others.

He snorted, reaching for the bottle of brandy that sat next to his goblet. It was his cowardice that was the problem. He was afraid to tell her because he was afraid she would see it as her duty to kill herself. Duty. Duty had defined them both and he understood, better than most, that Fiona was also performing her duty as she saw it. He poured himself another goblet of brandy and swilled it around in the bowl, watching the dark liquid as if it held the answer.

"You do not wish to eat while you drink? I have heard it helps absorb the brandy," Leonie said softly.

Backlit by the flickering torches in the hallway, he couldn't see her expression but he knew she wore a wry smile because her words were bathed in it.

"I find myself without an appetite," he said, downing the brandy in one long gulp. It burned as it made its way into his stomach, warmed his insides. He hadn't realized how cold he was.

"For a Warden that is unheard of," she said, feigning surprise as she stepped into his office. She closed the door behind her. He heard the bolt turning as she locked the door.

"Indeed? So I am unique. That's not an entirely bad thing," he replied. He picked up the bottle of brandy.

"Join me?" he asked, waving the bottle at her.

"Unless you are ordering me to, as the new Commander of the Grey, I shall pass. I am famished and I think my stomach might rebel."

There was a question in her voice and Loghain squinted up at her as she stood beside his chair. It was dark, but not so dark that he couldn't see her concern. He didn't want that. He ghosted a smile at her.

"Don't worry, I'm not drunk. I'm not even numb yet," Loghain said, setting the bottle and goblet aside. He pushed his chair back from his desk and then stretched a hand out to her in invitation. She came and sat on his lap, resting her cool lips on the curve of his neck.

"It must have been a serious talk with Fiona to leave you so unsettled," Leonie remarked. "I suppose you will tell me when you are ready to?"

"Someone once told me that fate was a tricky whore. I agreed but now I believe duty is the trickier whore," Loghain said, pulling her closer and breathing her scent into him. Somehow, she always smelled of sunshine, mixed with vanilla. The scent steadied him.

"Duty is never quite as clear cut as one would like, is it?" she replied, her breath stirring like a balmy night against his skin.

They fell silent again and Loghain was content to sit in the dark holding her. She was not. "She is here to take me to Weisshaupt, yes?"

"Over my dead body," he replied with utter conviction.

"Since Fiona has not delivered good news, I assume she is afraid I am becoming another Architect, is she not? Are we not all waiting for that to happen?" Leonie prompted, leaning away from him and trying to read his expression in the dark room.

Loghain sighed heavily. She had a right to know. He had faith in her. Slowly, reluctantly, he began to tell her about his conversation with Fiona.


	35. Chapter 35

**A/N: **_Because everyone deserves a break now and then.  
Thank you to all those who have lurked, bookmarked, favorited and reviewed. I'm delighted you are continuing to follow the adventures of Leonie and Loghain. Special thanks to _Nithu_, _Lisakodysam_ and _Enaid Aderyn_ for their support when I was really doubting myself. You helped more than you'll ever know._

**Respite**

Alistair looked up at the sound of Karlin's footsteps. She yawned and stretched before bending to finish lacing up her thick leather boots. Her face was framed by the furred hood of her cloak. She gave him a wary look and he realized with a start that he had been staring at her, probably with his mouth hanging open. He dropped his eyes and studied the fire, burning hotly against the cold night.

"_Compliment her, distract her," Sigrun had told him. "If she starts yammering on about Loghain, kiss her if you need to. That should shut her up." _

Alistair felt his face flame at the thought. Not that he would necessarily mind, but he had never been all that sure around women. Especially Karlin's type of woman. The kind you built a relationship with, maybe even a future. Gah, he wasn't even able to think about kissing Karlin without blushing like a templar. He had no business thinking of a future with her or anyone else. Not while he was still recovering from his past.

"You look good in leather," he blurted out, only to have his face turn a darker shade of red. Smooth. As smooth as Dwarven ale. He scuttled away from the fire and stood up. "I mean, leather suits you," he added and then rolled his eyes. Maker, what a blithering idiot.

"You're a very strange human," Karlin responded, settling on the log that had been pulled up to the fire.

"You're not the first to tell me that," Alistair admitted. "Oddly enough, Phindar wasn't either. What's that say about me, I wonder?" he asked, grinning at the absurdity of the situation.

"That you're a very strange human?" Karlin asked, lips almost twitching into a smile.

Alistair chuckled. "Sure, that's me. Strange human, peculiar templar, weird Warden."

"Hmm, I wouldn't say weird so much as comical," Karlin teased.

Alistair dropped his jaw, exaggerating his expression of shock. "Are you teasing me?" he croaked, feigning surprise.

"Ha ha, shem," Karlin replied.

Alistair knew his grin was goofy but he was okay with that. He sat back down and settled against his bedroll, staring into the fire.

"Why did you run away?" Karlin asked bluntly.

Alistair's grin disappeared into the night. "I wish I had an easy, funny answer for that. I guess the quick answer is I felt betrayed when Phindar recruited Loghain to join the Wardens. In my mind Loghain had taken away everything I ever loved and having him become a brother snapped something inside me. I wouldn't' fight beside him, I _couldn't_ fight beside him."

"I don't blame you. I can't figure out why an elf who'd seen what Loghain did in the Alienage could possibly fight beside him," Karlin growled, her voice dark and bitter.

Alistair stared into the fire, trying to come up with a quip or a compliment or a distraction and he couldn't. "I was wrong to do it," he admitted for the first time, shocked to discover it was how he felt now. He wasn't sure when he had begun to feel that way, he only knew the tight knot of hate and bitterness had eased.

"No matter how much I hated Loghain, Riordan was right to suggest it and Phin was right to recruit him. We were desperate for more Wardens. I should have supported Phin, not run out. I see that now. I sure didn't at the time. I wanted to kill Phin, Loghain and everyone who got in my way," Alistair continued, finally turning his eyes away from the fire to look at Karlin. He had felt so betrayed then, so alone, bereft and bitter.

"I don't have to like Loghain to fight beside him as a fellow Warden. To me he'll always be the man who murdered my surrogate father, my brothers and my king. I keep trying to see it like Commander Leonie sees it. Had Duncan been alive, he'd have recruited Loghain. He'd do whatever it took, not matter the cost," Alistair explained and in explaining felt a further easing in his chest.

"She said she views what Loghain did the same way, he was doing whatever it took to save Ferelden, no matter the cost. She doesn't condone what he did, but she understands that his sense of duty to Ferelden drove him to it. Maybe that's true, I don't know. I sure can't accept that he did some of the things he did," he finished, tossing some wood on the fire.

Karlin snorted. "Sure, easy for her to say, she didn't have her home destroyed and her friends and relatives sold into slavery," the elf said with that bitter venom still coating every word she spoke.

"Sure, easy for her to say, she wasn't here. She didn't lose anything, has never lost anything, what does she know?" Alistair mimicked sarcastically.

Karlin shot him a heated glance. "That's the worst imitation of me I've ever heard, and believe me, I've heard a lot of them," she retorted.

Alistair was startled into laughter at her remark. He had expected her to unsheathe her deadly daggers and rip into him. "Well, I'll just have to try harder," he remarked in a voice more suggestive than he'd intended. Her response was a slow, beautiful smile that lit up her face. It faded quickly.

"I'll always hate him," she said finally.

"Fair enough."

They both stared into the fire without speaking. Alistair cleared his throat. "So why did you join the Wardens, knowing that Loghain was one?"

"Because no shem is going to dictate my life to me again," she responded heatedly. "No matter how much I hate him."

He stood then and made his way to his tent, bedroll in hand. "Just don't hate all of us," he said quietly before slipping into his tent. Sleep captured him almost immediately.

* * *

He was determined to kiss every inch of her. She was intent on allowing him. Until she started giggling. He moved slowly from her ankle to her calf and up her leg, kissing her knee. She giggled again. Looking up, he raised a brow, glaring at her. She shrugged slightly, a blush staining her cheeks. He lowered his head, continuing up her leg, his lips lingering on the soft, silken flesh of her inner thigh. She giggled. His head came up and he saw that she had stuffed her fist in her mouth.

"Maker's breath, woman," he growled, moving up her body. Leonie's giggles sailed out of her as she removed her fist from her mouth.

"I am sorry, Loghain, but you are tickling me," she gasped, tears gathering in the corners of her eyes as her giggles continued.

"How? How am I tickling you? With my mouth?" Loghain asked, moving his lips along the satiny smooth curve of her breast. She moaned softly.

"No? Perhaps it's my fingers?" he inquired, skimming his fingers up from her knee along her thigh to flick with delicate strokes at her bud. She mewled, breath caught, arching into his fingers.

"Not my fingers either, I see," he smirked and then a new frown formed as he removed his fingers and pretended to puzzle it out.

Leonie reached up and pulled on his braid. He lowered his head trailing his braid along the sensitive skin of her thigh and up along her abdomen. Her giggles broke out again. He scraped his chest along her belly and she convulsed again. His smile was hidden against her shoulder as he bit her tender flesh there. While he usually did not appreciate the sound of giggling young ladies, in this moment, with all the pressures on them both, it was a refreshing and lighthearted sound. He moved his lips to the elegant curve of her slender neck, each kiss slow and unhurried. She sighed, turning her head to allow his lips greater access.

He moved back, watching her as she slowly recovered her composure. She met his look, her eyes glittering with tears and lit with laughter. Her hair was spilling across the pillow, ebony curls that framed her smile. She was beautiful and breathless and his. He dropped a kiss on her brow, her lid, and across to the other. Her giggles died away as he kissed the tip of her nose, the corner of her mouth, down lower to the place that always made her gasp. He was not disappointed.

Her hands tangled in his hair, fingers scraping lightly along his scalp. His growl made her arch into him again and he moved his lips along the crest of her shoulder but his determination to kiss every inch of her was undone by the legs she wrapped around his waist, by the throaty moans that included her pleas and his name thick with want, and by the feel of her melding with him.

* * *

"It sounds dirty, somehow," Tamra said with a giggle. She was straightening her cards and looking at Nathaniel.

"Of course it does. What would you expect from Anders?" Nathaniel asked with a slight smile.

"Ruff and Trump is not a dirty game, not like Wicked Grace. Although if you name trump you do rub the head," Anders added, waggling his brows.

Aura snickered. "You're right, Tamra. It does sound dirty. At least when _he _says it."

The four were gathered in the dining hall at the Warden's table with a deck of cards, a plate of food, a bottle of wine and a pot of tea. Anders was attempting to teach them all a card game. The first one he'd attempted, Losing Loadum, had sent Aura and Tamra into blushing fits of laughter at the terminology. He still wasn't sure what had been so funny about guarding against the swallow but he wasn't going to ask either.

"Wow, a rogue who palms cards. You don't see that anywhere," Anders exclaimed sarcastically, watching Nathaniel's stormy grey eyes narrow.

"Be careful what you accuse me of, mage. You won't get a spell off before I incapacitate you," Nathaniel warned good-naturedly. He slipped the card back into the deck.

"Oh, I'm not accusing you, Nathaniel. I'm just letting you know I'm watching," Anders laughed, flexing his fingers and allowing a small bolt of lightning to jump between his splayed hands.

"Nobody likes a show-off," Nathaniel groused, dealing the cards.

"Do you think Loghain and Leonie will have a big wedding?" Aura asked as they were all busy arranging their cards.

Anders laughed. "I'll be surprised if they actually ever get to the altar."

"Really? Why?" Tamra asked, pausing to stare in surprise.

"Well they'd have to actually leave their room for that," he sniggered. They all laughed and went on with their card game.

Anders felt a warm glow, an unexpectedly full heart, as he sat in the dining hall with his friends. No, his family, he mentally corrected. When he had escaped from the tower the last time he'd never expected to find a place he could actually call home. And in all his daydreams in solitary confinement, he had never expected to find a woman he would love.

"So, who's going to rub the head?" he asked with a leer.

Laughter filled the dining hall.

* * *

Varel walked into the library, looking for some light reading material. He was dressed casually, just woolen trousers and a roughly knitted wool sweater and soft soled boots. It had been a long day, a day full of emotional undercurrents that he hadn't entirely understood until Loghain had shown him Leonie's letter of relinquishment. That had filled him with a foreboding that hadn't left yet.

To his surprise, he was not alone in the library. Jarren and Fiona were both there, both seemingly engrossed in books. Neither appeared to be aware of him so Varel cleared his throat and offered a gruff, "Good evening."

"I didn't know," Jarren confessed, looking pale and anxious.

"Didn't know what, Warden?" Varel asked, the thread of foreboding tugging at his brain once again.

"Nothing," the young man said and anxiously twisted his hands together.

Varel sighed. It didn't look like nothing. It definitely looked like something. He glanced at the older elven mage. She set her book aside.

"Warden Fiona?" he asked, clasping his hands behind his back and fixing her with a steady gaze. She had the grace to look slightly embarrassed.

"I'm not sure I should say, Varel, but we have learned a valuable lesson."

Jarren nodded and then stared at Varel in horror. "She can't send me back now that I'm a Warden, can she?" he asked in the same anxious tones.

Varel and Fiona began to reassure the mage that even if she could, Leonie would never do that. "I'm not very good with people, I'm used to an empty laboratory and my research," Jarren explained unhappily. He ran a slender hand through his wild mane of tawny colored hair.

"What's done can't be undone. Time to focus on what you can do now," Varel remarked, staring sharply at the young man and then turning his gaze on Fiona, the Warden from Weisshaupt.

Fiona smiled, her dark eyes unreadable. He stood perfectly still waiting for her to explain what had happened but she seemed equally determined not to. He unclasped his hands and moved to a bookshelf.

Varel had been around Leonie long enough to know she was both physically ill and sick with worry. Since she had arrived she had been on the move constantly, from one battle to the next, one political issue to the next, trying to divide her time between the arling and the Wardens. But he knew that wasn't what was killing her.

He hadn't been hired as the seneschal because he was unobservant. From the look on Jarren's face, and the cool restraint on Fiona's part, he suspected they not only knew what was wrong with Leonie, but were, in part, responsible for it. Maker help them if that was true. Her Wardens and the entire staff were all fiercely loyal to her. As was he. Varel was determined to find out what was going on and nobody was more tenacious than he was. With the exception of Leonie and Loghain, he thought, his smile wry.

Picking a book at random, he walked toward the door. "I'm going for a snack if either of you want to join me," he said quietly as he left. His smile widened as he heard soft footsteps behind him.

* * *

"We need to discuss the trip to Ostagar," Leonie murmured, pulling on a warm woolen gown. She slipped her feet into soft kid slippers. Her stomach rumbled.

Loghain snickered and she turned to glare at him. He smirked as her stomach growled in complaint. He was already dressed and waiting for her. She turned her back to him and his long fingers made short work of her laces. He dropped a warm kiss on her neck before stepping back.

"No, we do not," he responded and bit back a chuckle as her stomach once more complained.

She blushed, looking at him with a smile playing at her lips. "You are marrying a pig, you know this, yes?"

"Indeed? How very off-putting. Perhaps I should reconsider," he remarked dryly, heading for the door. He turned back to find she was brushing her tangled hair. "And I doubt very seriously that the cheese and bread care whether your hair is brushed or not," he added.

"Ha, a lady never leaves her bedchamber with her hair in disarray," she sniffed, raising her chin and trying to look dignified.

"A lady, is it? What happened to the fierce warrior who didn't care about her hair?" he asked, smirking.

Leonie stood and went to him, winding her arms around him. "You are a beast," she muttered, laughing into his shirt front. Her stomach agreed loudly. Loghain snickered, bending down to kiss her. The stubble on his chin scratched lightly at her skin, turning it pink.

"I supposed now you'll want me to shave?" he mocked. "We wouldn't want to offend the cider."

"Beasts do not shave, Loghain," she replied archly.

"Who am I to argue with a _lady_ and her stomach?"

They made their way downstairs, arm in arm. Leonie smiled and greeted each guard they passed by name and would have stopped to chat with each had Loghain not kept her moving. She protested at their pace but her laughter took the sting out of it. She poked him lightly in the ribs and he gave a yelp and stopped mid-step to glare at her.

"I'm going to break that finger of yours one day," he promised, his eyes bright with mirth. His smile was a mere twitch of lips but Leonie smiled in return.

"I dare you to try, Loghain Mac Tir," she huffed, holding her head high, hands on hips.

They entered the kitchen from the back stairwell and set to work preparing a plate of food in companionable silence. Loghain brought out a roasted chicken breast and Leonie set out plates and mugs.

It was a respite, a break from the decisions that would be made in the morning. Without saying a word, they both understood that these stolen moments together might be their last time alone for a very long time. Leonie had to push her thoughts away at times but as she bent over the cutting board, slicing fresh bread, she was grateful for the evening that had started out so frightening, so dire.

She would not allow herself to dwell on the news that she may one day have the power to command the darkspawn, that her blood might be the result of experiments performed by Grey Wardens who kept the consequences buried in the archives, or that her Calling had been hastened by Jarren's failure to obey orders. When the thoughts crept closer, she tried to push them away and was largely successful. She suspected, glancing over at Loghain, he was struggling at times as well. She was grateful for his efforts.

"Here's a question for you," Loghain said, breaking the silence. "What is a courting vial?"

Leonie blushed, stepping away from him. She kept her hands busy and her face averted. "It is nothing, Loghain," she responded. She thought of poor Phillipe and her blush deepened.

"Why would 'nothing' make you blush so?" he asked, taking the plates from her hands and putting them on the side table.

"I suppose you will starve me until I tell you?" she asked in exasperation.

Sighing, Leonie kept her eyes averted. "It was the custom, years ago, for men of a certain social status to seek out the services of a _marieur_ when they had found a woman they wanted to marry. A _marieur_ is a matchmaker I think you call them. The _marieur_ would create a courting vial which the man would present to the woman he was courting at the appropriate time."

Loghain, leaning against the table with his arms and ankles crossed, raised a brow, silently encouraging her to continue. Leonie stared down at her hands, at the ring that now graced her finger and shook her head. "The courting vial contains certain ingredients that disappear if the woman is the correct match for the man," she answered evasively.

"That hardly seems blush worthy. What are these ingredients?"

"Oh Loghain, must we discuss this now?" Leonie complained, rubbing her stomach and looking with longing at the plates of food.

"That depends on whether you want to eat or not," he replied, continuing to watch her. She had the urge to poke him again.

"Oh very well," she capitulated ungraciously. "There is jasmine oil and powdered mandrake root and…" she began and her voice trailed off as she glanced down at the floor before looking back up at him. _Well he wanted to know, let him be as embarrassed as I am_.

"And the seed of the man. If, after seven days, the vial appears empty it is presented to the woman as a sign of the man's virility."

Loghain stared at her for a minute, his eyes widened in surprise. To her consternation he frowned. "So he's virile. Is that the inference?"

"That is the superstition, not the reality. I have no idea if he is virile or not," she responded stiffly. "Nor do I especially care." He couldn't possibly blame her for Phillipe's actions.

Loghain put his hands lightly on her waist, staring down at her. "He could give you children, Leonie. He could take you away from all this and give you a different life."

"I do not wish a different life, Loghain. I wish for this life," she replied, matching his frown with one of her own. "You have asked me to marry you, I have said yes. Do you wish I had not?"

Loghain laughed and to Leonie's ears there was an edge of bitterness to it. "What I wish is hardly important," he began but Leonie reached her fingers out and pressed them to his lips, stilling his mouth.

"Your wish in this matter is as important as mine," she stated, "and I will always feel that way. Your happiness, your desire, is as important to me as mine is to you." Unspoken between them was the knowledge that their time together might be very short. Leonie pushed the thoughts away. It was their evening, she would not spoil it with bleak thoughts.

Loghain tilted his head slightly, staring at her with narrowed eyes, thoughtful and serious. She returned his look with one of her own, hoping she conveyed how much she believed in what she had said. The silence between them, stretching taut, was broken by her stomach rumbling angrily.

"Well, who am I to argue with that?" Loghain asked dryly.

"Wisely spoken, my love," she replied, reaching for her plate.

They entered the dining hall and stopped in surprise to see the Wardens and Varel sitting at the table laughing and sharing stories.

"Hey look! It's Mum and Da!" Anders greeted with a welcoming grin.


	36. Chapter 36

**A/N: **_Sorry, one of those necessary and unexciting chapters to keep the plot moving forward._

**Promises Kept, Promises Broken**

The morning was surprisingly warm and sunny. A northern wind blew in off the Waking Sea and spiced the air with salt and pine. Snow puddled as it melted under the sun's stare. If Leonie closed her eyes she could almost smell Spring's sweet approach. It was nearly impossible to be gloomy in the face of the day's good cheer. A false spring, Loghain had called it.

She stood on the battlements, overlooking the arling. Her cloak hung around her shoulders, unneeded in the zephyr that blew lovingly along her skin. A restful night followed by a rejuvenating morning was just what the healer ordered. She smiled at that.

Anders, under the effects of wine and love, had been gregarious and effusive the previous night, embarrassing Loghain several times with remarks designed for just that purpose. This morning he had carefully avoided Loghain and complained to Leonie once again that Loghain was a scary man. She had assured him that Loghain was only scary to those who had good reason to fear him.

Relinquishing command was proving difficult for her. She felt now, standing in the sun, like she was a useless appendage and it was a feeling she had not experienced since her early days as a junior Warden at Lydes. A lifetime ago when duty and honor drove her relentlessly, naively, forward. She had lost her first fellow Warden there, made so many mistakes as she learned the intricacies of battle and command.

An ache, deep within her, stirred to life. A longing for the sight of the vineyards near Val Foret, _Val Vin Paradisiaque,_ filled her, making the ache sharper. She would have to talk to Loghain, let him know that she wanted to see Orlais before she took her Calling, wanted to say good bye to the places of her youth.

Her youth. She laughed unhappily. She was about to turn thirty, too young to consider death, yet she had to consider the possibility, the probability. Her fingers rubbed at her wrist. No other spots had appeared. Loghain had told her his theory and Leonie knew that she should speak to Jarren and Fiona. She should put Jarren's distress at ease. She had tried the previous night but he had been inconsolable and maybe that was not such a bad thing. Fiona had no excuses, however, and Leonie was scheduled to meet with her shortly.

With a backward glance at the peaceful blue sky, Leonie entered the Vigil and made her way down to the laboratory. Jarren was already there, bent over the journals. He looked up and snapped upright, closing the book with a snap and jerking to his feet.

"Good morning Commander Leonie," he mumbled, eyes downcast.

Leonie's grin was brief. "Just Warden Leonie at the moment so you may call me Leonie," she replied, stepping into the room. "You are able to decipher the journals?"

"Not entirely. Fiona isn't the only one who knows ancient Arcanum. Not," he added quickly, "that I know it as well as she does."

"I will not keep you from your work, Jarren. I just wanted you to know that I do not blame you for this," Leonie said softly, rubbing again at the spot on her wrist.

"Well you should. I think I'd feel better if you did, actually," Jarren muttered.

"If you have learned a lesson than nothing else needs to be said, yes?"

"I _am_ sorry," he said, a heartfelt apology. He looked miserable, woeful. Leonie nodded slowly. It was obvious in his very stance that he was sorry.

"I know," she answered kindly, turning away.

Varel was waiting just outside her office. "Arlessa Leonie," he began and Leonie sighed dramatically.

"I finally get rid of my title as commander in the hope that you call me Leonie and still you find a formal means of address."

Varel gave Leonie a brief, but warm, smile. "As you say, Arlessa Leonie."

She beckoned him in and went to sit at her desk. He waited until she was seated before sitting down across from her. "Court is being held tomorrow. Will you be in attendance?"

"You must ask Loghain if he will be in attendance, yes? He is the Commander of the Grey of Ferelden at present and thus the Arl of Amaranthine is he not?"

Varel looked startled and Leonie's lips twitched. "So you see, Varel, you may call me Leonie, yes?"

"As you say, Lady Leonie," he replied.

"Varel, if anyone ever tells you that you are not a stubborn man you have my permission to call them a liar," she replied with a chuckle.

Varel's dry smile graced his features for a brief flash before disappearing behind his obvious concern. "I've heard some very odd rumors today," he said with his usual forthright manner.

"If the rumor involves the onset of my Calling, I am afraid there may be more truth than rumor in that," she said calmly. Each time she thought it, every time she said it, the truth became minimally easier to bear.

"But you're going to Ostagar and the Wilds?" he asked, a note of disapproval creeping into his usually measured, neutral tones.

"I am still a Warden and my Calling is still many, many months away, Varel. Would you have me sit in a chair and wait for my death to come to me or have me live my life on my own terms?" she asked, smiling fondly at him.

"I would rather you took care of yourself and fought this," he replied gravely.

"I need to do this, Varel. I know how to cleanse the heart of the Blightstorm and there may be much we can learn from examining the area. The tainted land is spreading, according to Travis. I have already waited longer than I should have."

"Why can't Warden Fiona do it?" he persisted.

"She has not been a field Warden for over twenty years. She knows nothing of what we face each day," Leonie replied, her voice reflecting her dissatisfaction with Fiona.

"An unhappy history," he remarked with a hint of a smile as he stood up.

"She is loyal to Weisshaupt, I am loyal to the Grey Wardens," she said simply, as if that explained the chasm between the two women.

After Varel was gone, Leonie waited for Fiona. She could hear Loghain thundering about something in his office but she remained at her desk, trying to let go of the reins of command. If he felt compelled to tell her why he was in a towering rage, he would. She suspected he was unleashing his frustration and she felt a twinge of pity for whoever was bearing the brunt of it.

Fiona arrived a minute later, her expression a curious mixture of grim determination and apology. Leonie waved her into a chair and waited for the elf to speak first.

"I had no idea, Leonie. You must know I wouldn't have ordered him to do anything to jeopardize your health," Fiona said; apologetic, yet still proud and cool.

"Indeed. I will not be much of a research subject if I am dead, yes?" Leonie responded wryly, but with an undertone of condemnation.

The elf flushed, eyes shadowed. Fiona leaned forward. "We were friends, Leonie. I would hope we still are," the elf said with prickly resolve.

"We were. Yet you are here and I cannot imagine it is a _friendly_ visit."

"I came to help discover the truth. When we received word of the Architect, I left Weisshaupt immediately," Fiona said stiffly.

"Yet the first word of talking darkspawn should have reached Weisshaupt quite some time ago. I cannot help but wonder why it took you so long to arrive, if you were here to help?"

Fiona, her slender body rigid, looked at Leonie with wide brown eyes. "There are archives somewhere in the Blasted Hills that might help. I tried to get permission to go into the area and search but with the tensions between Nevarra and Orlais, it proved impossible. That took longer than I had hoped. You know how slowly diplomatic channels work, Leo, especially in Orlais."

Leonie heard the sincerity in Fiona's voice, knew instinctively that she was telling the truth. "How do you know there are archives in the Blasted Hills?" she queried, her voice marginally warmer.

"After the experiments, when it was suspected that the third Blight was started as a direct result of those experiments, it was decided that the Joining they had devised, no matter how nobly intended, was too dangerous to use. The documents I found in the First Warden's archives contained a mention of a hidden Grey Warden archive, established in the event that Weisshaupt fell. The documents indicate that the original notes and the formula were taken there and hidden, along with a number of other important documents.

"The Wardens were also concerned that others might find out about what happened and they feared it would destroy the Grey Wardens. No matter how evil they appear, their intent was noble. We both know how necessary Grey Wardens are. Would we be welcomed if the general populace knew about this or the cause of the fifth Blight?"

Leonie frowned thoughtfully. "Then why not just destroy the notes?" she asked and then another thought occurred to her and it took her breath away. She leaned forward, hands clasped tightly.

"Is this the real reason for the Grey Warden involvement in the tensions between Nevarra and Orlais?"

Fiona was going to lie. Leonie, watching the older woman, saw the second Fiona decided that a lie was necessary. Sighing heavily, Leonie shook her head. "Do not think to lie, Fiona. We have been through too much," she instructed, disappointed.

"The truth is complicated, Leo. I'm not sure I completely understand. I think there are Wardens in Nevarra who suspect there is something of great worth in those mining tunnels. There are Wardens in Orlais who want to know why the Nevarran Wardens are so interested in those tunnels. No matter how much we want to believe that all Wardens can separate themselves from their national loyalties, not all of them can. There is a real schism between the Orlesian Wardens and the Nevarran Wardens currently and it is made more so by the rumors of what might lie in the hidden archives."

Leonie rubbed her head, agitated by the thought. "They have some misguided notion that I can be used as a weapon, or that my blood can be. How would they come to think such a thing?" she pondered aloud.

Fiona's face reddened and she had the grace to look ashamed. "That is my fault, I think. My last assistant was not very trustworthy. Some of my notes went missing about the same time he did."

"And these notes made mention of me?" Leonie prompted when the other woman fell silent. "Or made mention of my blood?"

"Your name wasn't mentioned but enough people remember your visit to Weisshaupt and the reason for it to put a name to the person mentioned in the notes."

Leonie stood up, nervous energy forcing her limbs into action. There were questions that waited impatiently to be asked but she found herself unwilling to voice many of them. She went to the window, blinking at the bright sun reflecting off the melting snow. "Am I a danger to those who are not Wardens?" she finally managed to ask, unconsciously rubbing at her wrist.

"No."

A simple, short answer that should reassure her but didn't. "How can you be so sure?"

"I know from personal experience and I'll leave it at that."

Leonie's relief flickered through her, a small flame. The thought that she might infect Varel or Aura or anyone else had made her sick with worry. She was silent, still unwilling to ask the other questions that beat a steady tattoo in her head.

"Would you tell me about Alistair?" Fiona asked quietly.

Surprised, Leonie came and sat in the chair beside Fiona and took the older mage's hand in hers. "He is a good man," Leonie said with soft conviction. For the next hour she told Fiona what he had gone through in the past two years.

She had promised herself if she ever got the chance she would try and talk Fiona into acknowledging her son and forming a relationship with him. That was foremost in her mind as Leonie talked about Alistair.

* * *

"Yes, what is – oh, Travis. Come in," Loghain said curtly. He bent over the vellum in front of him and finished writing.

When he had finished the letter to Nila Gilmore, Loghain set the quill back in its stand and motioned to a chair. He sat back, waiting for the shaman to tell him the reason for the visit. Travis rubbed his hands together and made an odd, chirping sound.

"You were right to tell her," Travis told him.

"Was I? I'm not entirely sure that's true. I catch her looking lost when she thinks I'm not watching her. She'll be thirty years old in a week. That's much too young to see your own demise looming."

Loghain's voice was cool and unemotional, completely at odds with the way he felt inside. He would gladly, willingly, give his life in exchange for hers. He turned his gaze away from Travis, whose quizzical stare seemed preternaturally able to read Loghain's thoughts.

"I have word from my tribe, Loghain. We need to get to the Wilds soon. I'm not sure we can wait for the original plan," Travis said, surprising him by the change in topic.

Loghain leaned forward, elbows on his desk, attention focused. "Why? What's happening in the Wilds?"

"Darkspawn attacks are on the rise again. My tribe is on the move, heading north along the old Imperial Highway towards Lothering. They can meet us in Lothering or wait just north of Ostagar for our arrival. They can replace the foot soldiers and if we ride hard we can be in Ostagar in seven days."

Loghain nodded thoughtfully. "Your tribe is willing to help?" he asked in surprise. It was a completely unnecessary question, he realized. Travis was revered among his tribe. His word was still followed without question.

"Naturally. They're anxious for Leonie to cleanse the heart of the Blightstorm."

"Leonie isn't going with us," Loghain said quietly but firmly. "She can tell me how to cleanse the area. I'm sure it isn't that difficult a procedure."

Travis clucked his displeasure at the news. "She isn't going to like the idea and I won't blame her. If you were in her place would you want to give up your command and then sit about, waiting for your death?" he chided. "Besides, I'm sure I heard you promise her you wouldn't do that sort of thing. Was that just an empty promise?"

Loghain bit back a harsh reply. Travis was only telling Loghain what he already knew. He had also promised not to write her mother about her condition. He was breaking promises every time he took a breath.

"Strategically it makes sense to bring her. She's your most seasoned Warden," Travis continued, ignoring Loghain's warning growl of annoyance. "There are dangers here if she stays, the research has already proven that," Travis added with a quiet authority that gave Loghain pause.

"If you do not bring me, you force me to get there on my own and we all know how terrible I am with directions," Leonie added quietly, entering Loghain's office from their adjoining door. She stood calmly assessing him, her arms folded across her chest, her eyes cool.

"If they discover a way to neutralize your symptoms you will need to be here," Loghain reasoned, matching her tone.

"I do not believe that a week or two will make a difference, Commander Loghain," she said and her use of his temporary title made him mentally wince.

"Don't you think you'd be better served staying here and overseeing the research?" he tried again.

It wasn't that he wanted to be separated from her. If her Calling had started he wanted to be there for her, to help in any way he could, though it sounded like there wasn't much he could do, short of killing her if it came to that. He shuddered and looked away from her. He wasn't sure he could do it and yet his duty bade him do so. She would be a danger if she went into the Deep Roads alone, given what they had learned.

"You will not need to," Leonie assured him, striding briskly to him. She stood beside his desk, not touching him, just watching him with a sorrowful look in her eyes. He noticed then that she was not wearing her commander's plate, instead wearing her plain and serviceable plate. It struck him deeply just what she was giving up and he growled angrily at how unfair it was. But then life had seldom been fair, it wasn't meant to be fair.

"What do you mean?" he asked stiffly. How could she know what he was thinking? Had it shown on his face or was she a witch? He had thought so at times with her uncanny ability to read his thoughts and anticipate his actions.

"I have this," she said by way of reply, showing him an amulet with a small vial attached to it. Without asking, he knew it was the poison that Nathaniel had created for her, quick acting and painless. He had thought she'd gotten rid of it. Why was she so adept at keeping her promises and he seemed to always break them?

"We leave tomorrow at first light," he said, disgruntled and ungracious.

"As you wish, Commander Loghain," she replied, a light note of triumph in her voice. He glared at her and she smiled glibly. "I await any further orders, ser."

"Insolent chit," he muttered, not without affection. He rubbed his aching temples. "See that Varel instructs the stable master," he said and watched as she turned and made her way out of the room. He couldn't help but wonder if he would be so gracious had the roles been reversed. In truth, he would not.

"Tell your tribesmen to meet us here," Loghain said, moving to the map and pointing to a small town between Lothering and Ostagar. A small town was a kind description. A collection of farm buildings with a small shop and inn attached to a barn. Sorrel's Flats.

It was guilt, he realized, as he set about making preparations for their departure. He felt guilty. Not about taking over command, but because he enjoyed being in command. That thought did little to ease the tension that rode like a familiar companion between his shoulders.

Loghain didn't see Leonie again until dinner. His day had been filled with paperwork, instructions and meetings. Moving up their travel date came with a host of unforeseen headaches. He entered the dining hall to find her sitting with Phillipe at a table tucked into a dark corner. The Wardens were all at the usual table and he hesitated briefly before making his way over to sit with his fellow Wardens.

"How long will you be gone?" Nathaniel asked quietly, sliding into the spot beside Loghain.

"Three weeks, with luck. Count on four. I'm depending on you to keep the Wardens in shape. We'll send any possible recruits we encounter to you. They'll have a letter sealed with the Commander's signet."

"Yes Commander Loghain," Nathaniel said and there was just a hint of discontent or disapproval in the younger man's voice. Or maybe it was his own sensitivity that was making him hear and see things that weren't there.

"Keep an eye on the research. Make sure that they are following the procedures I drafted this afternoon. Fiona has a copy."

"Yes Commander."

Loghain glanced around the table to find every Warden watching him. His frown deepened. "Is there a problem?" he asked coolly.

"No, it's just…you are bringing her back, aren't you?" Tamra finally asked in timorously. He glared at each Warden briefly before his eyes came back to meet Tamra's.

"Of course I am!" he growled angrily. Tamra blushed and dropped her gaze.

"Sorry, Loghain, it's just that we thought she'd be staying at the Vigil," Anders said, flashing a slightly apologetic smile at him.

"Well you thought wrong. If any of you knew her as well as you claim, you'd know she would rather cut her arm off than stay behind. She needs to do this," he admonished them all. Damned hypocrite, he thought as he reached for the mug of ale that Aura had set before him.

"Be ready at first light," he ordered Anders and then stalked out of the dining hall and up the stairs.

Later, when sleep seemed merely another broken promise, Loghain felt Leonie slide out of bed. He watched in the low light of the glowing embers from the fire as she slipped into her wrapper and moved quietly to the door.

"Not able to sleep?" he asked, curious and concerned.

She turned, startled, but smiled sheepishly. "Hungry," she confessed.

She was back within a few minutes. He saw her go to her pack and slip something into one of the outside pockets and then her cold feet brushed along his legs as she climbed back into bed. He shivered, pulling her close. She curled into him and it was only a few moments more before he felt her body relax as she fell asleep. He finally dozed off, his dreams broken and troubled.

* * *

Leonie watched as Anders tenderly tucked Aura's hair behind her ear and bent to whisper something. Aura took his hand and placed it gently on her burgeoning stomach. He laughed and dropped a quick kiss on her lips before taking the reins of his horse and mounting.

Turning in her saddle as they left the security of the Vigil, Leonie saw her Wardens standing on the steps. She raised her hand to them, a brief wave. Nathaniel bent slightly at the waist in acknowledgement of her. A fine bit of irony that the disgraced Arl of Amaranthine's son was now in charge of the arling. She smiled and turned to face the road that stretched before them.

Travis and Loghain rode abreast, leading the small party. Leonie rode between Anders, who was unusually quiet, and Phillipe, who was gregarious and inquisitive about the arling. She answered his questions and found herself relaxing as the miles fell behind them.

Once they left the main road to travel across the fields, talking became impossible. They were pushing their horses hard and hoped to be in the Bannorn by nightfall. It was another beautiful day, warm and sunny. A promise of spring that Anders and Loghain both said would be broken. Travis agreed, saying that snow would begin to fall by the morning.

He was right. The promise of spring was broken by the thick clouds roiling in the morning sky, streaked with peach and violet and angry looking. Snow began to fall an hour later.


	37. Chapter 37

**A/N: **_The trip to Ostagar is going to be in two parts because the chapter just kept getting longer and longer. The second part should be posted within a day or two and will be from Loghain's POV._  
_My continued thanks to all of you who read and review and encourage and support this endeavor. I am very appreciative_**.**

**War and Remembrance**

**Part One**

The group made good time through the Bannorn as they made their way south. Phillipe was charming and helpful, unfailingly courteous to Loghain in an insolent and playful way, and flirtatious with Leonie. By the third night, a night when snow danced lightly in the air and fell softly to the ground, Loghain ran out of what little patience he had. Leonie was honestly surprised it had taken so long.

Returning from the creek with a pan of water to heat for tea, Leonie stumbled on a root and Phillipe was there immediately to help her, taking the pan and offering his arm. Leonie accepted it and as they entered the encampment, Loghain looked up from his whittling to glare at them.

"You would glare at this lovely creature?" Phillipe asked, tutting in disapproval.

Loghain's eyes narrowed further and he went back to his whittling. That did not sit well with Phillipe and Leonie watched with a horrified fascination as Phillipe went to Loghain, his stance a clear challenge.

"You treat her like she is one of your Mabari war hounds. You must agree that she's a beautiful woman," Phillipe demanded.

Leonie rolled her eyes and moved between the two men. "Phillipe, please. Do not provoke Loghain," she warned softly, her tone iron surrounded by silk.

"I don't provoke him, Lion. I ask a simple question. I have not heard him say one kind thing to you since my arrival. It's unconscionable that he would treat you thusly," Phillipe argued, looking not at Leonie as he spoke, but at Loghain.

Loghain carefully set his whittling aside and slipped his boot knife back into its home before standing. Leonie sensed his anger. Phillipe's thick Orlesian accent did nothing to diminish Loghain's dislike of the man, or of Orlais. She turned to Loghain, her back to Phillipe, an appeal in her eyes.

"Do not let Phillipe provoke you," she began but he cut her off with a wave of his hand, a dismissal that she found both insulting and aggravating.

"Oh, a fight. This could be interesting," Anders muttered, huddling by the fire and shaking his head. "Especially since I'm too tired to heal either of you."

Travis was watching with a curious expression on his face, Leonie noted. He was amused, almost delighted, by the unfolding scene. Leonie was not. They had more important things to worry about than whether Phillipe liked the way Loghain treated her. Or whether Loghain liked the way Phillipe talked.

"You still haven't answered, Loghain. I can't understand what someone as sophisticated as Leonie sees in you. She could have had anyone she chose in Orlais. Why she chose you is a mystery for the ages. You aren't nearly good enough for her," Phillipe taunted.

"Why you little Orlesian fop," Loghain snarled, moving forward, hands clenched, expression furious.

"That is enough!" Leonie cried angrily as both men began edging forward. She felt the heat of anger coming from both of them and felt trapped between them. She shook her head. "Stand down," she hissed angrily as they continued to glare at each other.

"Anders, if they do not stand down, you have my permission to cast a lightning bolt at them," she added.

"Um, Leonie, you aren't in command any longer," Anders reminded her with an apologetic smile. She groaned, once again wondering why she had so easily relinquished her command.

Leonie's head was beginning to ache and she shoved both men back as they stood sizing each other up and with a huff of angry indignation, marched to her tent. That it was also Loghain's tent meant nothing to her. She tossed his bedroll out and tied the flaps shut. Let him sleep with Travis.

She was greeted the next morning by a sullen grey sky and two sullen, sulky men. She ignored them both, going about her morning ablutions as if they didn't exist. Travis and Anders were watching the exchange, and lack thereof, with great amusement.

Loghain came to stand behind her as she pulled on her cloak. He stared at her, his expression cool and wary. She returned his look with one of her own that she hoped conveyed how disappointed she was in his behavior.

"I suppose you wish me to spout flowery compliments and quote love poems," he began harshly.

"Yes, of course I do. You must also throw rose petals at my feet and prostrate yourself at those same feet," she said dryly. Loghain's lips twitched at that.

"Scribble your name on sheets of vellum with little hearts scattered about?" he asked, the lines around his eyes relaxing.

"And declarations of undying love each time you speak," she agreed with a smile.

"He's a fool," Loghain growled.

"Yet knowing that he is a fool you still allow him to provoke you. What does that say about _you_?" she asked softly, her eyes alight with mischief.

Loghain let out a low sound of disapproval and putting a hand on either side of her face, pulled her close for a lingering kiss. "Yet knowing what it makes _me_ you still love me. What does that say about _you_?" he returned with a smug smile as he walked away.

That was the last light moment they were to have for days. They arrived in Lothering late in the evening of the fifth day. The town, once a bustling crossroads with more visitors than citizens, was a devastated pile of rubble and burned out buildings with crudely made hovels and tents standing where homes and businesses had once stood. The chantry building was a ruined hulk, stained glass windows gone, walls crumbled, the interior charred. What the Blight had not destroyed the aftermath had. Buildings covered in black corruption were burned to the ground and most of the citizens were just beginning to return to rebuild.

"Dane's Refuge" Loghain muttered darkly, pointing to a pile of half burned timber and an old stone foundation. There were tents lined up in neat rows behind the old, ruined building. A man with silver streaks in his dark hair and a long, perfectly groomed mustache, stood nearby, arms folded, rocking on his feet.

"Don't see many vis – Maker's breath, General Loghain?" the man uttered, hands falling to his sides in surprise.

"Danal," Loghain said mildly, dismounting. "I assume you're rebuilding the inn?" he asked, motioning to the pile of rubble.

"Aye, but it'll take a fair bit o' time, ser."

Loghain nodded and surveyed the town, his frown melancholic. Leonie dismounted and came to stand before the man Loghain had addressed with familiarity. "Good day, ser," she greeted softly.

"Orlesian," he remarked with a neutrality that was as welcome as it was surprising.

"Grey Warden Leonie Caron," she explained with a friendly smile. He returned it and then looked at Loghain.

"About half the town survived. Can't kill a good Fereldan," he told Loghain with a short bark of laughter.

They spent the night in the field north of the town. Danal brought them a fragrant stew that tasted every bit as good as it smelled. The men ate in silence, for which Leonie was grateful. Loghain and Phillipe spent a good deal of the meal ignoring each other and Leonie was steeling herself for the upcoming arrival at Ostagar. That night, long after the camp had settled for the night, Leonie woke with a headache, a pounding at her temples that seemed to beat int time to her heart. Above the pounding was a whisper of voices, unintelligible for the most part, but several words were understandable. Words she had since learned meant sorrow and betrayal. Darkspawn words. She was becoming increasingly able to understand certain words. There were those times when she almost understood a whole sentence. She had also discovered that the closer they got to Ostagar, the more strident the voices. She touched the amulet with the vial of poison, lying beside their bedroll on top of her riding leathers.

After a discussion about what they might find at Ostagar, Travis had instructed his people that the Wardens would meet them at the tribe's latest camp spot, south of the ruins of Ostagar, in the Korcari Wilds. Leonie was worried about the amount of darkspawn and darkspawn corruption she might find in Ostagar. They had brought the necessary ingredients for a Joining, should they need it, but Leonie was hopeful that they wouldn't.

They approached Ostagar along the Imperial Highway on the seventh day; her birthday. They had thought to make an early day of it and rest up before entering Ostagar but Loghain had not wanted to wait, a nervous energy pushing him relentlessly forward. Leonie could feel the tension radiating from Loghain, saw it in the chiseled granite of his profile held still and tense by his gritted teeth. He looked neither left nor right, but straight ahead. If she listened she believed she could hear the war of words playing out in his head.

From a distance Ostagar was beautiful. Wearing a crisp new mantle of snow, the gleaming white walls of the ruins seemed to stretch to the heavens, seemed almost as tall as the craggy, snow capped mountains that surrounded the ruins. Much too beautiful a place to have witnessed such a brutal massacre, Leonie thought. The Tower of Ishal stood as a beacon against the cloud studded skies. The wind, mournful and constant, swept up from the south. Banners whipped under the onslaught.

As they neared the ruins the scene shifted. White walls were splashed with dried ichor and blood, rust and ebony against broken white granite. The banners were faded and tattered, a reminder of what had been lost at Ostagar. The ground was littered with rusted armor and broken weapons, a few skeletal remains, shredded and torn tents and the various decaying and decrepit accoutrements of a once great army. The very air seemed to reek of death.

Somewhere on the battlefield Duncan had met his end and the thought caused an ache, the ever lurking grief, to bloom in her chest. She tried to tamp it down. Now was not the time to reflect on what she had lost that day. Yet it was there, present in every breath she took, a slow steady pain that lingered like a stubborn cough.

Leonie edged Bendis closer to Taranis, her leg brushing against Loghain's, trying to offer an anchor to the present, allowing herself to be anchored as well. Loghain glanced at her, eyes shadowed and distant. "I love you," she whispered on the wind and he gave her a small nod, allowing his lips to curl into a tight, small smile. Leonie almost wished he hadn't made the effort; it was so full of pain it made her heart ache even more. As if he realized that, he reached out a gloved hand, touching her cheek briefly and she leaned into it before Bendis protested the close proximity of Taranis and shied away.

As they neared the main ruins, the tug in her blood grew stronger and she could tell the other Wardens felt it as well. Loghain called a halt and they dismounted and secured their horses. Loghain and Leonie helped each other with the straps and buckles of their armor. Glancing around to make sure nobody was watching, she reached into her pack and palmed a small vial. She slipped it into her hip kit before quietly unsheathing her sword and dagger.

"Small, separate bands," she said in a hushed voice. "No more than ten or fifteen per group. Mostly genlocks and hurlocks."

Travis looked at her in surprise. "You can tell all that from your blood?" he asked with a cluck of approval.

"Years of taint. You will be able to as well, some day," she reassured and then moved slowly forward, Loghain beside her. Travis had switched from his mace and shield to his bow, a beautifully carved short bow that was slung with loving care onto his shoulder.

"Anders, there is a caster in this first group. Make sure to disable him. Travis, concentrate your arrows on him."

Loghain's smile was a quirk of lips and brows. "It seems you wish your command to be returned to you," he remarked coolly.

Leonie blushed, embarrassed, but there was a fine edge of anger as well. "At your order, _Commander _Loghain," she replied tensely.

Her nerves were thrumming with the number of darkspawn in the area and the knowledge that each darkspawn they killed was a silent acknowledgement of Duncan's sacrifice. A tribute to the other Wardens who had died. A reminder of what she had lost, what Loghain had lost.

Before anything more could be said the fighting started and she was lost in the clash of steel on steel and the fluid movements of battle. Maker, she had missed battling the darkspawn! She swept in, blades high, decapitating a genlock and bringing her sword and dagger points up to the hurlock beside him. With a quick flick of her wrist, the sword slid effortlessly into the hurlock's neck. Black ichor and blood flowed freely as she stepped away, moving on to her next target with practiced ease.

There was a familiarity and rhythm to their fighting. Loghain's shield and sword were caught gleaming in a shaft of sunlight as he used both effectively on a small group of genlocks determined to shred him. She was beside him, her weapons cutting with swift precision at first one and then another. She could feel Loghain's tension being funneled into his fighting, his battle cries sharp and caustic as he taunted the darkspawn.

Travis was no less accurate with his bow than with his mace and shield. She heard the high whine of arrows flying overhead, saw the more distant genlocks fall. She and Loghain moved forward, side by side.

"Happy Birthday," Loghain remarked wryly as they once again prepared to battle a group of darkspawn. Her laughter caught her by surprise, a joyful sound that seemed out of place as she stood among the corpses of dead darkspawn but Loghain understood and nodded at her before they once again engaged the darkspawn.

As the last genlock of the group fell, she felt the sharp, familiar sting of an arrow piercing the skin of her left shoulder. Her dagger fell to the ground at the impact. A wave of soothing magic flowed into her and she yanked at the shaft of the arrow, breaking it off. They could worry about it later. She grabbed her dagger, adrenaline and battle lust propelling her forward.

Relentless pinpricks in her blood told her another group, larger than the others was approaching from the eastern battlements. She called a warning, swinging around to meet them. Thirty or more, she saw and felt a frisson of fear flicker along her nerves. Three casters, only two of which she recognized as emissaries. The other, a genlock caster with a bluish grey aura around him, seemed able to raise the skeletal remains around him and it caused her, and her companions, to hesitate.

Phillipe gagged, the sound of him retching a pitiful noise amongst the sounds of the battlefield. He was no doubt overcome by the stench of the darkspawn, the brutal killing. She felt sorry for him for a brief moment, wanted to console him, but there wasn't time.

When he didn't move she followed his horrified gaze. A body, held in place by spears, hung on a crudely made shrine of some kind. The darkspawn appeared to have used a rudimentary embalming agent on the body, a male, but it had worn off some time ago. Loghain's growl could have been disgust or dismay, she couldn't tell. His face was paler than normal, the blood from a minor head wound stark in contrast. He had recognized the body and that made her feel a bit sick as well.

"Ewwww, that's disgusting!" Anders cried and Leonie could hear his fear and revulsion limning his words.

There was no time to worry about who it was or why it was there. The darkspawn were moving in and they had to focus on the battle ahead.

"Take that caster down now!" she and Loghain both cried at the same time. Later it would be humorous and the subject of laughter but at the moment they were too busy fighting the darkspawn and corpses of the long dead soldiers who had once been under Loghain's command. A twisted irony, impossible and real.

Taking no time to loot the corpses or look for Cailan's chest that they had come for, they focused solely on clearing out the darkspawn. At the Tower of Ishal, Loghain hesitated, staring up at the top of the tower, his face frozen in a fierce grimace. Bitterness flowed off him in black waves and Leonie edged closer to him and put a hand on his arm.

"Loghain, we must finish this," she urged softly. He looked at her and she saw in that look the grief, the regret, the anger that still held his heart. He nodded and pushed the door of the tower open. It creaked in protest and an acrid, foul wind greeted them. Leonie's head began to ache at the base of her skull.

"Ogre," she muttered, moving forward.

"Ooh, watch Leonie," Anders crowed. Leonie rolled her eyes.

The ogre was surrounded by a group of hurlocks who were hissing and growling like rabid dogs. "Take the hurlocks," she told Loghain as she crouched low and prepared to launch herself at the ogre.

She didn't give him time to argue and she would have to apologize at some point, she knew, but she was already running with deadly intent at the giant creature. Then she was sailing in the air, breathless, as her blades caught and held.

The blades pierced through skin and tissue and muscle and sank into the thick chest wall. She hung suspended, heart racing with adrenaline and triumph as the ogre straightened and tried to shake her loose. Her feet dangled, swinging wildly. She heard Phillipe yelling urgently but she ignored him, focusing on the behemoth she was attached to. She twisted the dagger and held on to the hilt of her sword as he started stumbling. She twisted Lionheart then and felt the slow momentum of his backward fall pulling her along. She jumped off and stumbled back a few steps before putting her foot on his chest and yanking her weapons free.

She hadn't felt this alive in months. This, fighting darkspawn, was what she was born to do and it filled her with a sense of purpose, an affirmation that she was alive and fulfilling her duty, something that had been sorely lacking since the Architect's death. If she wasn't afraid the others would think her mad, she would have cheered. As it was, the darkspawn were skittering down a dark hole and Loghain was ordering them to follow. Even with that affirmation and the excitement it evoked, an undercurrent of grief continued to plague her. It was that, constant and dark, which tempered her joy at fighting her enemy.

Loghain went down into the hole first and she heard a faint thud as he landed and there was a brief flare as a torch was lit. A warm glow emanated from the hole. She heard Phillipe gagging again and felt a moment of compassion for him. She cast him an apologetic smile before beginning the decent into the dark.

Her head began to scream in protest as she climbed down, as if a thousand voices rose up and shouted at once, pummeling her brain. _Go away!_ Her shout never left the confines of her mind, but as quickly as the cacophony started, it faded. She blinked at the flare of a torch, surprised and uneasy by the sudden silence in her head. She felt dampness on her upper lip and swiped at it.

"They are everywhere, but not close. Distant and holding back. It is as if something or someone is telling them to stay away," she whispered with a frown. "I sense only a few stragglers."

Travis looked at her sadly and clucked once. He reached out with a cloth and wiped gently at the blood that was dripping from her nose.

"I must have been hit there," she said as she wiped at the blood. Anders cast a spell and she felt the cloth cool considerably which slowed the flow of blood until it was little more than a trickle and with another swipe that stopped as well.

"That caster, the necromancer I believe, is just ahead. Let us end his reign over the dead," Leonie muttered, stepping forward. Loghain's hand on her arm stopped her, the question plain in his gaze.

"I am fine," she answered and shrugged his hand off, moving forward once again. He moved up beside her as they fought the few remaining darkspawn in the dark underground chambers of the Tower of Ishal before finally finding their way to the site of the original battle.

Ravens, greedy and mocking, called to them as they stepped onto the barren ground. Travis made a strange series of calls and clucks. As one, the ravens rose into the sky and flew off, leaving only the unearthly whine of the winter winds in their place. An ogre, dead and decaying, was the only body on the battlefield. Leonie noticed the hilt of both a sword and a dagger in its chest and knew it had been killed by a Grey Warden but before she could fully comprehend what she was seeing, she felt the angry pull of her blood beating at her veins in hot spikes. A powerful darkspawn was nearby.

"There, to the northeast, do you see him?" she whispered. Loghain nodded and they moved forward slowly.

Halfway to the genlock necromancer, she saw him casting a spell, twisting his stunted hands in the air and smiling with razor sharp teeth in his ruined, desiccated face. To her horror the ogre lumbered to its feet, stomping the ground hard enough to shake it, causing both Leonie and Loghain to stumble.

"Stay on the caster, all of you! If the spell is broken, the ogre will fall again!" Leonie yelled, hoping it was true.

She charged with single minded purpose, heading straight for the genlock, weapons ready. Loghain was beside her, hair whipped into a dark aura around his pale, grim face. The ogre moved with an unsteady gait towards them, knocking both Phillipe and Travis off their feet in the process. Leonie turned back, to occupy the ogre while Loghain kept the caster busy. She hurled herself at the ogre, but her sword and dagger pierced and then slid through the rotted flesh and she found herself sliding down the creature's body and onto the ground. She rolled away quickly and pushed herself up, slamming her sword against the ogre's thigh. He swatted at her and she ducked.

"Hurry!" she cried, bringing her sword and dagger back and burying them into the monster's leg again. She pulled the weapons out, ducking and weaving. She wondered if she could grab hold of the weapons already buried hilt deep into the ogre's chest. She dropped her own weapons and turned as the ogre went past her. It was headed towards Anders. Running, she positioned herself in front of the ogre and crouching low, launched herself once more at his chest and grabbed wildly for the hilt of the sword. Her other hand found the hilt of the dagger and she twisted them again, into a heart long dead, praying to the Maker it would work.

The ogre roared angrily and reached for her but she was already jumping, landing with a bone jarring thud on the hard, frozen ground. He turned, heading directly at her. She took precious seconds to look at the caster, who was losing the battle but stubbornly refusing to just die. She growled, preparing herself for another attempt at bringing the ogre down or at least keeping him off the others.

Just as she launched herself, she finally recognized whose weapons were buried so deeply into the ogre's chest. The thick Antivan leather decorating the plainly carved hilt was of superior craftsmanship and material and it had been Duncan's pride and joy when he had finally been able to afford the dragonbone sword. He had been the one to kill the ogre and her shock at realizing the weapons were his sent her tumbling to the ground.

The ogre began to stagger and stumble as the caster's spell wore off. The necromancer, heart pierced by Loghain's longsword, fell dead at Loghain's feet. Leonie, numb with the shock of her discovery, stared dumbly at the lurching ogre who was seconds away from landing atop her. For a second or two, she contemplated her death and felt a certain peace at the thought.

It was Phillipe who pulled her to safety.


	38. Chapter 38

**A/N: **_Thanks for bouncing ideas back and forth with me, icey cold! It helped a great deal!_

**_War and Remembrance _**

**Part 2**

Loghain was furious. With everyone. Furious with Leonie for taking such foolish risks. Furious with Phillipe for being younger and faster to react. Furious with Anders and Travis for doing nothing to help the situation. Mostly he was furious with himself. He had been too far away from Leonie to do more than run in her direction and watch as Phillipe threw himself at her and rolled away, clutching her tightly in a clang and screech of metal armor on metal armor. He saw the blossoming of crimson on the white snow and heard Leonie's cry, ripped hoarsely from her throat. He was there, pulling Phillipe away and kneeling beside her.

The broken shaft of the arrow had pushed deeper into her shoulder when Phillipe had thrown himself at her, up and to the right. The Orlesian had saved her life, Loghain knew that, but to see her in pain, the blood forming scarlet fingers in the snow, made his own vision darken.

"Anders!" he roared as he knelt beside Leonie. Her eyes were wide and glazed over. He thought, with the bitterness that was so deeply ingrained in him, that it would be the ultimate irony if he lost her at Ostagar.

The mage, his own face flowering colorfully with quickly forming bruises, nodded and reached into his pack for a vial of lyrium but Travis was already there, kneeling beside Leonie and making soothing clucking noises, his hand passing across her eyes as he began to whisper words that were foreign and ominous to Loghain.

"Get her breastplate unbuckled," Travis told him without looking at Loghain. Loghain's clumsy gauntlets made the task more onerous than it should have been. Once done, he slowly removed the cuirass afraid he would further injure her, before he unlaced her upper padding and cut away an area around her shoulder. Very little of the shaft was left to grasp, having been forced at an angle further into her shoulder.

"I seem to be getting slow in my old age," Leonie murmured, trying to smile but it came out as a grimace that made his nerves tight and his heart hammer. A rush of memory, the sound of his own men dying in agony as he retreated with the bulk of the army. He blinked, trying to focus on Leonie.

"Yes, an odd choice for a birthday celebration," he finally managed, his tone more ragged than dry but her smile was a bit stronger at that.

"The lengths you go to just so you need not buy me a gift," she replied and then her eyes closed and the gasping, painful breaths stilled.

Loghain's eyes shot up to look at Travis who was nodding. "Sleeping. Necessary. Get my kit."

Anders knelt beside Travis. "Oh, you put her to sleep? How did you do that? You're not a mage, are you?" the mage asked in tones that conveyed both awe and suspicion.

Loghain glanced at Phillipe as he brought Travis's kit back to the two men kneeling beside Leonie. Phillipe's pallor had a sickly green tint to it and there were scratches marring his handsome face. He too was in shock and had no doubt never fought in anything other than a duel. It wasn't in Loghain to pity a person, least of all an Orlesian, and that he owed Phillipe a debt further tightened his already tight jaws.

"I can't tell where it's lodged now so we'll need to pull it out, not push it through."

Loghain blanched. "I'll do it," he finally said in a tight voice. He removed his gauntlets and flexed his fingers.

"One slow steady pull," Travis warned quietly without looking up. He placed he hands on the tops of her shoulders and held her firmly. "Now," he instructed.

Loghain grasped the broken end of the shaft between his thumb and forefinger and slowly pulled back, half afraid that the blood would cause his grip to loosen. He watched for any sign of renewed bleeding. She shuddered but didn't wake up as he continued to pull steadily. Sweat beaded on his forehead, cooled by the brisk wind. She woke up as he was nearly done. Her eyes on his were trusting. He was the last person she should trust. If returning to Ostagar had reminded him of anything, it was that he would go to any lengths to secure Ferelden's safety, no matter the cost. But that wasn't true any longer; his allegiance was to the Grey Wardens. The irony crashed over him like a wave hitting a boulder.

"Duncan's weapons," Leonie whispered. He frowned, tossing the broken arrow aside.

"What are you on about?" he asked, voice brusque.

Leonie sighed and struggled to sit up. Travis still held her in place as Anders pressed a bandage into place before incanting a spell that flickered blue as it enveloped Leonie. "In the ogre," she mumbled.

Loghain turned to look at the ogre that had nearly killed her. Weapons were still embedded into the creature's chest. Loghain gave a bitter, mocking bark of laughter. Of course they were. And of course they would be Duncan's. He nodded and stood, crossing quickly to the ogre and jerking the weapons out. They were pitted now and covered in ichor and gore, rust along the once sharp edge.

"How long until she can move?" he bit out at Anders. Anders shrugged and began to list reasons why she shouldn't move.

"Now," Leonie intervened, slowly sitting up. Travis and Anders helped her stand before moving away to repack their medical kits. She was pale but standing without assistance and he was struck again by how brave she was, how fearless even when she should be afraid.

"Then let us be done with this cursed place," he growled, handing her the weapons. He braced himself, waiting for the inevitable blame and accusations. She stared at the sword and dagger now in her possession and then at him, her eyes dark and her expression impossible to decipher.

"Yes, we need to find Cailan's chest and be done with it," she agreed calmly.

"And we need to do something about that body," Anders said and there seemed to be an accusation in his voice. Loghain raised a brow at him before he moved off.

Phillipe hovered in the background, near enough to Leonie to make Loghain's headache flare into life. He took Duncan's weapons from her with a devout promise to treat them with reverence. Loghain's headache nudged along his temples and round to the back of his head, sending painful fingers into the base of his skull.

The ghosts of his soldiers haunted Loghain's every step. He could feel their anguish, hear their screams, smell their fear, taste the salt of their tears on his tongue. His back rigid, shoulders squared, he led his group, away from the battlefield, feeling oddly grateful that it was covered in snow. Only Leonie's blood was visible and that was an irony he couldn't overlook either.

As they approached the body that hung rotting on the defiled statue, Loghain heard the echoes of a stubborn child condemning Loghain's men to death with his need for glory, his threat to bring in the Orlesians and thereby destroy everything Loghain and Maric and the others had sacrificed to achieve. _A glorious moment for us all_. His words, twisting like a knife in him. It was then, during the war council, that the iron resolve in him formed fully and irrevocably. He would leave Cailan to die rather than lose an entire army pandering to the king's selfish vanity.

It was never a battle they could win and Loghain had spent two years replaying it in his head, every conversation, each decision, always to no avail. The outcome had already been determined and replaying those final days served no purpose. The _what ifs_ and _should haves_, the futile anger at Duncan for not telling him the reason the Wardens were needed, Cailan's fascination with legends and glory and his stubborn refusal to stay off the front line, his need to have the Wardens all together rather than split into at least two groups, even Loghain's own blind paranoia had all conspired to bring defeat to them.

"You recognize this body," Leonie said softly and it was not a question, it was a statement.

"Yes, allow me to introduce you to the late and lamented leader of Ferelden, King Cailan Theirin," he said, sardonic and acerbic.

He was grateful enough that she said nothing else. What was there to say? Surana had accused him of regicide and Loghain had shot back with a pithy reminder that Cailan had far more blood on his hands. Staring up at the wrecked features, the broken body, that had been Rowan and Maric's son, he felt a stirring of pity for the boy king and that made him angry.

Cailan had been beyond saving, he reminded himself bitterly. He had been a vainglorious, egotistical child whose vanity and need for glory had cost Ferelden dearly. But Flemeth's words haunted Loghain as he stared up at Cailan. Betrayal. Whose betrayal was worse? Cailan betraying his nation for glory or Loghain's betrayal of Maric's trust? Would he ever know? Did it even matter? It was the past, over and done with. Yet still it held him in an iron grip.

He let out a low growl of disgust. He'd done the only sensible thing. He'd tried to save as much of the army as he could. Having them all die to fight a battle that had always been impossible to win would have been a far greater betrayal. Maric had told him never to risk the entire nation, the army, for one man because of a title. Loghain had sworn an oath that he would not do so ever again. Was that how he justified the debacle of Ostagar? He rubbed a weary hand across his forehead.

"Let us leave this place," he ground out, stepping away from the body.

Leonie protested immediately. "We cannot just leave him here, Loghain."

"Can we not? Do you suppose _he_ cares?" Loghain asked, his voice caustic and short.

Leonie placed a hand on his arm and told the others to go on ahead. "Do you hate him so much?" she asked him in her calm, gentle voice.

Loghain stared at her for a moment and then up at the body that had come to represent every failure in Loghain's life. "Yes, I find I do."

Leonie touched his cheek, a delicate touch that struck deep into his resolve. "Do you hate him because he made terrible decisions or because he forced you to make the impossibly difficult decisions that he was not capable of making?" she queried in that same calm, gentle voice.

"Does it matter? In the end he didn't have the best interests of the nation at heart, only his own selfish needs," he snarled. His anger, his bitterness and hatred, had kept him company for far too long to just be whisked away by a woman's soft touch or tender words. He stepped back and stared up at Cailan. But it did matter, he discovered, because she had struck closer to the truth than he wanted to admit.

"Do what you will but don't expect me to be a party to it," he said coldly and walked away.

He was busy looking for the chest when he heard the soft keening notes of Travis's chanting. It was his tribe's chant for the dead, a sound he had heard before and the mournful notes seemed to be caught between the mountains, echoing softly all around him, floating on the whipping wind. A bitter reminder, plucking at his resolve.

Tensing, he waited for Leonie to condemn his actions, to accuse him, finally, of murdering her husband. He had been waiting for that accusation since she had first torn up his orders for Montsimmard and he'd discovered who her husband was. A Rivaini pirate, she had called Duncan, her face illuminated with her love for the man. And Loghain was just a farmer's son, a poacher, a killer.

He stood at the site of the King's tent, now only a few strips of colorful material that caught the wind and were whipped about. His head throbbed, his shoulders frozen in their tense posture, every muscle coiled and aching with the strain of holding himself aloof from the scenes around him, the memories that enveloped him.

Once more his mind's eye saw Cauthrien's expression when he had grabbed her wrist and told her to do as he had commanded, as if he had ever wanted to sound the retreat. He had been given no choice. The darkspawn horde had outnumbered them so drastically that even a thousand more troops would not have helped find victory against them. He closed his eyes, seeing the long snaking trail of thousands of torches stretching to the far side of the valley and winding up the mountainside. Thousands upon thousands of darkspawn.

Why hadn't Duncan told him the truth? Why hadn't he argued with the battle plans or the low number of Wardens? Why had Duncan calmly accepted Cailan's bravado as truth? Loghain's laugh was low and harsh. He knew why. Loghain had opposed him at every turn, had made Duncan's tenure as the Commander of the Grey of Ferelden miserable and impossible.

Each moment, every step he took, was a reminder of failure and impossible choices and duty and defeat that had spiraled out of control once he'd retreated from Ostagar. He stood motionless, caught in the web of tortured remembrances that would not lie silent.

"It is done," Leonie said, breaking into his reverie. He looked down at her pale face, saw there were tears dancing like diamonds on her lashes and he felt himself tensing up again, waiting for the accusations.

"Is this where you finally tell me what a right bastard I am? That I'm a regicide? That I murdered your husband?" he sniped at her coldly.

She blinked up at him. "I will do no such thing, Loghain. I think we must leave here, set up camp, and clean up. We shall come back later to find the letters, yes?"

He nodded sharply and issued the orders. Anders looked relieved, Travis curious and Phillipe was still confused and disillusioned that fighting darkspawn was neither romantic nor glamorous. Loghain thought Phillipe and Cailan would have gotten along famously. The thought did nothing to lighten his mood.

Leonie was silent, walking beside him as closely as their armor allowed. He was thankful for the silence. He felt the urge to stop her, to take her into his arms and drift away with her. But of course he couldn't, she was already moving to unpack her gear, favoring her right arm, her look still calm and thoughtful.

There was very little talk as they began the task of setting up camp, collecting firewood and deciding who would cook. The only thing they all agreed on quickly was that Leonie would not cook. She shook her head with a smile and continued with her tasks.

"I am quite a good cook," she said with regal dignity, " but I choose not to show off."

Anders howled at that and proceeded to tell Travis and Phillipe about some of her cooking disasters. Loghain felt far removed from them in those moments. He bent to his tasks, ignoring the light banter.

Tents set up and armor removed and cleaned, Loghain and Leonie made their way back into the ruins while the others set about cooking and cleaning weapons. Still not touching him, silent as a wraith, she walked beside him as they made their way across the encampment that once rang with the sounds of soldiers calling out the watch, barking dogs and the usual cacophony of an army camp. Hushed now; lost to war and elements and scavengers.

"Will you always hate yourself?" Leonie finally asked. He stopped, staring at her in surprise.

"Probably," he finally said when it became apparent she wouldn't move until he answered.

"Even though we both know you acted in the only reasonable manner available to you?"

He snorted derisively. "Yes, because waiting for relief troops was certainly unreasonable."

"A great commander once said that no victory comes without great cost but that no price is too great a price to pay for freedom. I wonder if that man was a liar?" Leonie asked, her voice still soft and oddly serene.

He hadn't expected her to be so calm. Or forgiving. It confounded him. He could understand when they were far removed from the actual battlefield, where the memories of Duncan were bathed in softer hues, but here, standing amidst the turbulent landscape of defeat, she remained strangely at peace.

"No doubt a great _Orlesian_ general spoke such rubbish," Loghain finally said with contempt.

"Actually, it was a Fereldan who spoke those words after the victory at River Dane. He was speaking to his troops and he had, by all accounts, lost nearly half of his men in the battle but they had routed the great Orlesian army. I believe his name was Loghain Mac Tir. At least that is what Varel told me and he was there so I suspect he knows," she finished, smiling tenderly at him.

"Be angry, damn you!" he demanded harshly of her, hands coming to grip her arms. He didn't shake her but, by the Maker, he wanted to; he wanted to get her to understand what he was capable of and what he had done. Why must she refuse to acknowledge his guilt?

"I do not need to be angry, Loghain. You have enough anger in you for all of us who lost someone here," she replied and her tone was still calm and tender and loving.

He pulled her roughly to him, his mouth hard on hers, tongue demanding entrance. He felt her fingers tangle in his hair and pull him closer as if she could somehow block his vision in doing so. He was lost; lost to the scene around them, lost to everything but the moment, the space of time with her.

He should be gentle, she had been injured. He should be tender and loving because she was but he couldn't find it within him. A passion that heated his blood, sent it pulsing through him, a primal need to feel her, taste her, devour her was taking away any sense in him at all. She was salvation. She was forgiveness. She was peace. If he lived to be one hundred, he would never understand the kind of strength and grace in her that allowed her to accept him, to forgive him, knowing what he was.

He gripped her leather clad bottom and lifted her, felt her legs wind around his waist, her lips never leaving his. Her moan filled his mouth, her breath warm against his tongue, setting his need on fire, raging out of control. Despite it being the worst place and the worst time, he wanted her. Her ragged breath heated his skin when she drew back. He stumbled forward, searching for somewhere to lay her. She was already unclasping his cloak and he found a small copse of woods, a bare patch of ground. She dropped his cloak and he knelt down. She was still wrapped around him and her fingers were busy with the buckles and laces of his trousers.

Their coupling could hardly be called love making. He entered her with rough, graceless strokes and she clung to him, wrapping arms and legs around him, meeting his thrusts, rocking with him, murmuring words against him as they sat facing each other and his hands guiding her hips urgently as his need screamed incessantly in his blood, his heart, his soul.

He was shattered and made whole. There was no other way to describe the way he felt in the minutes following. He tumbled backwards, bringing her with him and his mind was spinning into the darkness that was growing around them, the air cooling but her breath still warm as she whispered her love into his ear. His eyes were damp, his voice rough as he replied in kind. They clung to each other until the night rose up to greet the sky.

Returning to the camp, they found the others busy eating. Leonie showed Phillipe the letters from Celene and then she carefully placed them on the fire. The letter from Eamon to Cailan was in Loghain's kit and he would make sure it found its way to Anora. Eamon would pay for his interference, his conniving. Loghain was sure Anora would see to that. He no longer felt the need to assist. That was a strange feeling. A strange admission.

Later in their tent holding each other like young lovers, he realized a remarkable thing. The heaviness of his guilt and anger had lessened, as if somehow the ground had been consecrated by their act and made clean.

And knowing that it was her birthday, he couldn't help but think that he had somehow been given a gift.


	39. Chapter 39

**Into the Wilds**

Carefully extricating herself from Loghain's strong arms, Leonie quietly slipped into her leathers. Sunrise was erasing the last lingering strands of night with pale lemon streaks, embellished with mauve and peach. She found that Anders was already awake and none too happy about it. Trying to keep the fire going with wet wood, he finally huffed and tossed a fireball at it, throwing a plume of ash into the air that settled like snowflakes in his hair and on his shoulders.

"Ah, an outdoorsman," Leonie said in a cheerful whisper.

Glaring at her, Anders remained seated, staring at the smoldering ruins of the fire. A few brave flames winked and stirred but not with any true promise. Leonie went to gather the wood that Travis had covered with a length of canvas the night before. Taking out her boot knife, she shaved several pieces of wood and placed them in the fire ring. With a grin, she looked over her shoulder at the sulking mage and said, "A bit of help would not go amiss."

Anders fingers began to glow and a very small fireball winked into existence. He sent it on a slow dance through the air to land with pinpoint accuracy on the shaved wood, which caught and flamed immediately. She carefully stoked the fire and added wood until it was a warm and cheerful friend.

"Showoff," she teased, coming to sit beside him.

"Well if you can demonstrate your skills at building the perfect campfire, I see no reason not to impress you with a few party tricks," he replied, though his mood was still less than cheerful.

"Control like that is hardly a party trick, Anders," she chided, slipping her arm around his shoulders. "Now tell Mama Leonie what ails you," she added with a mischievous grin.

Anders erupted into laughter. "Mama Leonie?" he snorted with a shake of his head, continuing to laugh for another moment before his gloomy look reappeared.

"What is it, Anders? It is not like you to be so glum," she urged, leaning back to watch the emotions play across his handsome, normally jovial, face.

"Why did you bring me? It's obvious with Travis around I'm as useful as a bowl of lard," he grumbled, refusing to meet her eyes.

Leonie carefully refused to allow her smile to reach her lips, staring at the fire and hoping the twitch of her lips went unnoticed. "You are suffering from professional jealousy?" she asked, imbuing the words with surprise to mask the humor behind them.

"Certainly not," he huffed indignantly. "I just don't see the need for two healers. I don't know what he is but he isn't just some ordinary bloke that stepped out of the Wilds for an afternoon stroll. He uses magic, I'm sure of it, but not lyrium based magic and since I don't see anyone bleeding profusely, it isn't blood magic either. So what type of magic is it?"

There was genuine concern in his voice, and curiosity. Leonie had not really given it much thought but now that he had mentioned it, she was intrigued by his observations. "I suppose there is much we do not understand about the world, Anders. We are too complacent to challenge what we read and are taught, yes?"

"So that's it? You aren't even curious enough to ask the question?" Anders asked, raising his brows in disbelief.

"I am sure that he will explain himself when he is ready. His culture is ancient and I imagine it has survived largely intact because he does not go about spouting its secrets to a skeptical and superstitious world."

"I hate you," he complained, staring into the now roaring fire, "and your damned logic. Loghain's a bad influence on you."

"Am I indeed, mage?" Loghain rumbled, stepping out of the tent with a scowl.

Leonie tried valiantly to stifle her laughter but it tricked her into coming out despite her best efforts. Just a quick gurgle of amusement before she had it under control again. Anders's expression was equal parts dismay and embarrassment. She patted his arm reassuringly as another chuckle escaped her.

"Do not fret, Anders. The rumors of Loghain tearing mages apart with his bare hands are just that; rumors. Or at least I believe they are." Her lips twitched upwards and she winked at him.

"Hate," he muttered darkly, shooting another glance at Loghain, who was continuing to fix his scowl on Anders.

Leonie snickered and then leaned towards him again, her face settled into a serious expression. "Anders, I trust Travis without reservation. I brought you with me because you are the best healer I have ever seen and have very powerful fireballs," she said and then felt another chuckle emerge as she thought of his earlier attempt at starting a fire. His lips twitched. Leonie gave up trying to talk and instead gave in to her laughter.

Loghain settled beside her, holding his hands out to the fire, hiding his humor behind a scowl. She reached out and began to braid his hair, a habit formed in the earliest days of their relationship and now one as comfortable and natural as brushing her own hair. He didn't seem to mind, stretching his neck with catlike grace as she deftly wove his hair.

"Now, shall I prepare breakfast?" she asked, standing and brushing off her backside.

"No!" both men cried out in unison, their voices mirroring horror.

"Ah, I see my plan to avoid cooking on these treks has worked. The Grand Game at its finest," she crowed and proceeded down to the creek with a pan. Ander's laughter kept her company as it floated in the morning air.

Phillipe, shirtless and shivering, stood on the bank of the creek, trying to shave. He had nicked himself several times. Leonie cleared her throat as she neared him, giving him a warm smile.

"Just the man I wished to see," she said, kneeling and dipping her pan in the bubbling tumble of water. He reached out to help her stand and then let go of her rather quickly.

"I am not contagious," she said softly. He nodded and looked down at his bare chest, now sporting a number of ugly welts and bruises. He quickly grabbed his shirt and shrugged into it.

"I wanted to thank you for your very timely rescue yesterday. I do not think I would have survived had the ogre fallen on me," she said, offering a smile to the man who seemed to have lost his tongue. She had never seen him as a shy man but now he seemed so.

"What is it, Phillipe?"

"How do you do it? How do you fight such beasts and not go crazy? Why won't you let me take you away from this?" he burst out, his accent thick and his anguish unmasked in his agitation.

"This is what I do, Phillipe. It is what I am meant to do, for as long as I am able. We fight the ugliest of monsters to protect those who are not able to. Would you really wish to take me away and force me to be something I am not?" she asked, smiling gently at him.

"Is it true, what you told me before? That you are dying?"

Leonie blinked, surprised by the sharp pang the words gave her. "Are we not all dying, my friend?"

Phillipe frowned, moving closer. He took the pan away from her and set it carefully on a rock before taking her hand and bending low to brush his lips across her knuckles. "I would die so that you could live if such a thing was possible," he said with such conviction and devotion in his voice that Leonie felt a sudden sting of tears forming.

"But we must all face our own death. I would not live happily were I to know you had died so that I might live. You have a path you must walk, Phillipe. I have a path I must walk," Leonie scolded gently.

He knelt down on one knee, still holding her hand and looked up at her, his handsome face marred only by the sad droop of his lips. His expression was earnest and appealing. She could certainly understand why Celene favored him. He was beautiful and romantic and sweet, for all that he could be a swaggering conceited courtier around others.

"_Même la mort n'atténuera pas les sentiments que j'ai pour vous_,"** he whispered, his words as warm and sweet as an embrace.

Leonie was touched and the tears that had formed threatened to fall but she smiled at Phillipe. "_Vous me faites un grand honneur_,"*** she replied softly, honestly.

With another smile, she squeezed the hand that still held hers before pulling away. Bending down to retrieve the pan of water, she walked quickly back to camp, putting distance between the life she was offered and the life she had chosen.

An hour later, fed and packed, horses saddled and ready, Leonie asked for a few moments alone to visit the ruins of Ostagar one last time. She made her way quickly to a parapet overlooking the valley below. It was somehow comforting to know that Duncan had met his death while battling the darkspawn; that he had died in a way he would have wanted. Of further comfort was the thought of her playful Peacock keeping her beloved Rivaini pirate company. The thought brought a smile to her face.

"Know that your sacrifice will not be forgotten, and that one day I shall join you," she whispered into the wind and then with a last look, turned and walked away; pressing forward. Her grief was now a soft and mellow creature in her heart.

The others had ridden ahead but Loghain was waiting for her, standing between their horses. He gave her a questioning look but she smiled and moved to him with light steps. "There was no need to wait for me," she admonished as he helped her into her saddle.

"Indeed? Then you have suddenly gotten better at directions, have you?" he asked, quirking a brow at her.

Her laughter followed in their wake.

They entered the Korcari Wilds less than an hour later and the sun suddenly winked out, hidden behind a thick mist. "They say the mist is a curse, brought about because an arl, trying to eradicate werewolves, killed a great many Chasind," Anders said in a hushed voice.

Travis clucked at that and followed the sound with a low chuckle. "So the legend goes."

Phillipe looked distinctly uncomfortable and swung his gaze in an arc from left to right and back again. "Is it true?"

"No more true than many other wild tales told to frighten children," Loghain scoffed. Still there was an eerie silence and their voices seemed to echo into the gathering mist. Loghain had traveled in the Wilds several times, or so he had told Leonie. He had let her know he'd been uncomfortable and uneasy every time.

"So you were not at all frightened when you traveled in these woods?" she asked with a smirk. His answer was to edge his horse closer so that she could see his scowl.

The air was not dank and foul as the Blackmarsh's air had been, but rather sweet with the scent of pine and cedar and wild flowers whose fragrance was unfamiliar but rich and musky smelling. The land was more heavily forested than Leonie had expected. There were sounds everywhere, foreign and exotic to Leonie's ears. Birdsong, high and wild, unexpectedly alluring as it became lost in the dense fog or was silenced by the mocking, cruel sounds of other birds. Sometimes low, guttural growling, beasts snarling, permeated the air. The horses, winding their way through the narrow passage between trees and marshy ponds, complained and balked at times and any discussion on their surrounding had to wait as they were all busy handling their mounts.

Leonie found it lovely in a wild, untamed way. Even as cold as it was within the woods, there seemed to be little or no snow on the ground. She asked Travis about it.

"Hot springs. The real reason for the fog," he answered with a cluck. She glanced at Anders and grinned.

Still, there was something mysterious and inexplicable about the Korcari Wilds. When Leonie looked back at the way they had come, expecting to see nothing but mist, she saw instead a cleared path for a split second and then the mist swirled up and the very trees seemed to move to erase their passage. Of course that was impossible she reassured herself but the chill that ran along her spine didn't seem to think so.

"Does anyone else find it strange with all this mist that we aren't drenched by now?" Anders asked in a voice that was pitched low and was a bit uneven.

"Too low to the ground, too thin above," Travis answered with another chirping noise. Leonie thought it almost sounded like a snicker but the fog was doing odd things to sound.

"Well as long as I'm asking stupid questions, is it true that Flemeth was killed during the Blight?"

"You can't really kill the Witch of the Wilds," Travis replied. "You can slow her down but you can never truly kill her."

Loghain snorted at that and Travis looked back over his shoulder at him. "You met her, Loghain. You know she isn't really a part of our world," Travis chided with a shake of his head that sent his beads and feathers dancing around his face.

"And does she truly have many daughters?" Leonie asked, more fascinated than frightened.

"And sons, the legends say," he answered succinctly.

"How ominous," Phillipe said, his voice so low pitched that Leonie had trouble hearing it.

Travis raised his hand and reined in his horse. The others followed suit. The mist was thinner and they had entered a large clearing, surrounded by towering evergreens. Leonie sniffed the air, pine but with an odd sweetness to it. She dismounted and moved to stand next to Loghain, who looked wary and guarded.

"We've arrived," Travis said quietly, with an undercurrent of pride running through his words.

Leonie looked around the clearing but saw neither buildings nor tents, only a large fire ring and neatly stacked wood in the middle of the field. She frowned. "Arrived where?" she asked.

"My village."

Anders grinned. "I hate to tell you this, Travis, but there's nothing here," he said in amusement.

"Always looking at the ground can get you killed very quickly in the Wilds," a woman's voice, disembodied and nearby, said sharply.

Leonie was ashamed at how high she jumped, at the gooseflesh that formed at the sound. She looked around and Loghain leaned forward, his eyes dancing with mirth. "Up," he advised dryly. Leonie turned her gaze up, startled to see the soft glow of lights in the very tops of the trees.

"Wow, that's not something you see every day," Anders whistled, following her eyes.

"Do we have to climb all that way?" Phillipe breathed, staring raptly at what appeared to be a village in the treetops.

"You can't fly?" the woman's voice asked with a lilting laugh. The voice was much nearer.

Stepping out of the mist was a tall, slender woman with white hair hanging down her back and deep green eyes. She wore a thick fur cape over a leather jerkin and skirt that reached halfway between her knees and her ankles. It was adorned with small bones and beads that tinkled softly when she walked.

"I am Gambhira, mother to our chieftain."

Travis, his face wreathed in a smile, bowed low to the woman, who motioned him forward. They leaned their forehead close, not quite touching, and began to speak in odd little chirps and foreign words. Finally the woman bestowed a kiss on his forehead and he stepped back.

"Travis Kenji says you are of good heart. We bid you welcome," the woman said and walked up to Leonie with inquisitive eyes.

"She is the one?" Gambhira asked, green eyes intent on Leonie. The color made her realize that she was Travis's mother and that he was not just a shaman but the chieftain of his tribe. She felt foolish for not having realized it sooner.

"She is," Travis answered quietly, coming to stand beside the tall, proud woman.

"You have come to cleanse?" the woman asked.

"I have. I regret I was not able to do so sooner," Leonie responded, apologetic.

"We are grateful you are here. There is no need for regret," the woman assured her kindly.

Travis introduced the other members of the group and she spoke a soft welcome to each of them.

"Anders, you are a mage," Gambhira stated. "We must talk."

"Phillipe, an interesting name and a lovely face, marred by sadness. Most interesting."

"Loghain Mac Tir, it is a great happiness to see you in our midst once more. Take pleasure in our hospitality."

Leonie looked at Loghain in surprise and there was a slight reprimand in her voice when she whispered, "You might have told me you had visited Travis's tribe."

"And miss seeing the look on your face?" he smirked. She poked him in the ribs causing a very undignified yelp from him. Revenge is a dish best served immediately, she thought with a hint of a smile.

A group of men and women materialized out of the mist and moved forward. There were at least twenty in total and all seemed warm, if wary, as they greeted the visitors. Many greeted Travis with great respect and there was one, that Leonie noted, who greeted him with affection and a restrained joy. He was of medium height and wore the same white hair and green eyes of Gambhira. His name was Bechar and he looked older than Travis. Why then was he not the chieftain?

"You are puzzled, but in our tribe, as is our custom, it is the second born that holds the power. I am the second daughter of a second son who was a second son and so it is into the mists of time long past. Travis is the second son. By right and by duty, he is our leader. It has ever been and ever will be," she said.

Leonie tried to keep her expression neutral but she felt a sharp pang of remorse. Travis might not be able to have children now and the thought that she was in any way responsible saddened her. Travis came to her and shook his head, his voice low and calming.

"You bear no burdens for my decisions," he remonstrated softly. "I walk my own path, as it is meant to be."

Leonie was touched by the sincerity in his voice, the trust in his eyes. She was moved by the clear acceptance of the fate that had brought them together. She reached out, laying a hand lightly against his cheek. "I do not know why the fates came to decide this, but I am grateful beyond measure to have your company."

"Now we must set up your camp and the tribe has prepared a feast in your honor. We shall eat in the trees, with the stars as our light but first we shall hold a Bondage Ritual."

Leonie's mouth opened at that, shocked and suddenly uneasy. Bondage? A blush stole across her cheeks and she was afraid to meet anyone else's eyes. She heard Anders snicker and Loghain had gone as still as the air around them.

"Mother, I see you still delight in scandalizing," Travis said with a cluck and quick shake of his head. He was smiling, however.

"Isn't that what the word means in the common tongue?" the woman asked, laughing. The sound was as musical as the tinkling bones and beads on her skirt.

"Literally, yes, but that hardly explains it," Travis chided.

"Bondage?" Leonie finally asked in a voice that was slightly unsteady. She pictured them all tied to stakes for some ancient fertility ritual and her blush deepened at the ridiculousness of the idea that Travis, or the tribe that welcomed them so graciously, would then tie them to stakes and do anything to them.

"Oh, you are right, Travis. Perhaps bonding would be a better word?" Gambhira teased.

"She means she will unite you and Loghain in a hand fastening ceremony," Travis said.

Leonie gave a weak laugh of relief that they weren't being tied to stakes before she realized what he had said. "I – I – what did you say?" she asked in confusion. Loghain chuckled, a low, rich sound that tickled at her insides.

"Have faith, little one. It is time," Travis said and somehow, she knew it was. She looked at Loghain. The trip to Ostagar had vanquished so many ghosts for both of them and there was no reason to wait. Yet she was strangely nervous.

"But come, the hour for such a ceremony draws near and you must first be cleansed," Gambhira said, her voice light and merry

Three young women stepped forward and Leonie noticed that they carried all the items necessary for a bath. Apparently for _her_ bath. She looked at Loghain, knew her expression conveyed the sudden rise of panic that she felt. He held her eyes, his expression unexpectedly tender and loving, before he nodded. Her resistance to the idea, her panic, faded away. This was what he wanted. Had he and Travis arranged such a thing? She smiled softly.

"Oooh, a wedding? Will there be lots of food and dancing?" Anders asked, rubbing his hands together.

"Of course. We aren't barbarians," Gambhira replied with another tinkling laugh as she motioned to Leonie to follow the women into the thick stand of trees to the west.

With one more look at Loghain, Leonie disappeared into the trees.

* * *

**A/N:** _**Phillipe's phrase is "Even death will not diminish my feelings for you."  
***Leonie's response is "You do me great honor."  
A big thank you to __**Amousca**__, who graciously offered her services for any French translations I needed in this story. I am truly grateful!  
The hand fastening, as Travis calls it, is based on several different handfasting ceremonies and a few anicent pre-wedding rituals from various cultures. Believe me, nobody is more surprised than I by the turn of events. It just kept writing itself. Travis must be in my dreamscape. *wink*_


	40. Chapter 40

**Through a Green Veil**

"I am Vilida, first daughter of the second daughter," one of the three women said with a slight nod of her blonde head. She too had green eyes.

"You are Travis's sister?" Leonie asked in surprise, realizing yet again how little she knew of him.

"Yes, I am the second born child, but the first and only daughter," the woman acknowledged. "It is good to see Travis. He looks more at peace than the last time he was home."

"I am Nemishia, twin of the chosen mate," another woman said, graciously bowing slightly. She was a tall, willowy woman with glossy brown hair and silvery blue eyes. "Cerida was the second born daughter, I am the third born daughter. We were born during the time of the black sun."

Leonie tried to puzzle that out. Did she mean at night? During an eclipse? She was busy sorting out relationships and names and trying not to notice that the women were assisting her in removing her armor. She felt unaccountably shy among these beautiful women.

"I am Thraymar, first born of the last born," the third woman spoke in a breathless whisper and averted her eyes. She was slender as a reed and short in stature with a mass of golden curls that rode along her shoulders. Her eyes, when she finally looked up, were the color of honey.

"The last born is my mother's brother," Vilida explained quietly upon seeing Leonie's confusion.

"Ah, it is as Travis says. You are a warrior who has seen much battle. He says you've the spirit of a lion and I see he is, as always, correct. Such wonderful scars speak of great prowess and courage," Nemishia said reverently. Leonie blushed scarlet as she stood there, undressed now, before the three strangers.

"Let us anoint the water and bathe you," Thraymar instructed and placed several drops of oil in the water.

"Bathe me?" Leonie croaked, eyes widening. She wondered if Loghain was being subjected to the ministrations of three men. The image of that brought laugher bubbling to the surface and spilling into the cool afternoon air and her shyness and nerves disappeared again.

The three women dressed her in a gossamer gown made from two squares of soft pale green material tied at the shoulders into knots that they explained were called lover's knots. Only her true love could untie them. Overlapping the material on the sides of the dress, they wound a belt of woven bark around her waist.

Thraymar, blushing prettily, took out a long feather. "It is from the crane, representing longevity, health and wisdom," she explained, weaving it carefully into Leonie's braid.

The irony of longevity made Leonie's heart sink. Should she marry a man knowing how little time she had left? It seemed wrong somehow, as if she would break promises she had yet to make. She blinked, letting the thoughts be swallowed by the mist. She could not dwell on thoughts of death and separation, not on this day. She would not.

Next Nemishia slid soft doeskin slippers onto Leonie's feet. "The deer symbolizes unconditional love," the young woman told Leonie as she stood up.

Leonie wished that somehow her mother could be there, to witness their hand fastening, to share in such beauty. She blinked rapidly, damming the tears before they fell. This was a joyous occasion, not one of sorrow. Her mother would laugh at her sentiments, remind Leonie that the only two who truly needed to attend a ceremony were Loghain and Leonie. She found herself smiling as Vilida stepped forward.

"You must carry these gently for they are heather, which symbolizes dreams and romance, and the snowdrop flower which represents hope. As easily broken as dreams are, as fragile as hope is, you must treat them with reverence and care."

Leonie found her hands were shaking with nerves. There was a dreamlike quality to the events unfolding and a part of her wondered if she was, in fact, dreaming. But the cold air that made her skin tingle, told her otherwise.

All three women helped settle a bearskin around Leonie's shoulders and she was grateful for the warmth of it. It was surprisingly lightweight and she was relieved, as she wasn't sure how she would be able to walk, let alone climb a tree, so shaky were her limbs.

"The bear is Mother Earth, representing hearth and home, motherhood. Keep yourself warm in Her love for all Her creatures of the earth."

Evening was quickly approaching, Leonie discovered, as they stepped back into the clearing. The three women, solemn and silent now, led her to the base of a very large tree. Vilida let out a soft whistle that sounded as sweet as the morning lark. Ropes appeared, several feet away from the trunk of the tree, uncoiling as they were lowered to the ground. Dropping to her knees, Nemishia tied a loop around one.

"Slip your foot through the loop, Leonie Caron. Hold on to the rope with only one hand, and do so lightly, do not grip it. You will be safe," the young woman reassured and with another whistle from Vilida, Leonie felt herself being pulled skyward.

Her heart started protesting loudly in her chest, thumping and floundering about, her breath coming in little gulps. However, the higher she rose, the more her spirits soared. It was breathtaking and mystical and unearthly.

There was a natural tendency to want to grip tightly with both hands but she was mindful of the heather and the snowdrop in her left hand, even more mindful of Nemishia's warning not to hold on too tightly. There was a life's lesson in those words, she thought, smiling softly.

Before she could quite get her bearings, the rope came to a stop and Travis, grinning with an almost childlike glee, was helping her step onto a wide branch. The scene before her was dazzling; wooden planks and rope bridges, platforms and stairs winding around large tree trunks, heavy green branches creating a lacy ceiling, and lights, reminding her of the glowstone that Ceres had made for her, illuminating it all. She gasped, an involuntary sound of awe, enraptured by the fairytale quality of it.

"Come, little one," Travis clucked, guiding her to a set of wooden steps that curled around a neighboring tree. Before her was a platform and a gathering of fifty or more people but her eyes sought and held a pair of pale blue eyes.

Dressed in doeskin and wearing a bearskin cloak similar to her own, he stood with ease and self assurance, looking remarkably calm. His smile was warm and open and for a moment she was sure she was looking at a stranger. This was not her taciturn and scowling general. This was a man who had finally come into his own, who was comfortable with himself. He was a stranger to her and for a minute she felt the panic rising in her again.

Her mouth dried up, not a drop of moisture in it. Butterflies assaulted her stomach and moved on to her blood, causing a fluttering sensation to chase along her nerves. Her heart, having at last settled peacefully, began to flounder in her chest once more, She seemed unable to move, rooted to the spot just as the tree she stood on was rooted. Silence stretched for a long, unsettling moment.

If anyone had told her that she would be the nervous one and Loghain the calm one at their wedding, she would have laughed them out of the room. But there it was, and it was only the wry amusement in his eyes, the quirk of his brow, so familiar and so dear, that gave her legs the ability to move again. Her smile wobbled, her knees wobbled, but Travis's steady hand in hers, helped keep her from falling into a nervous, quivering heap.

Gambhira, still dressed in her leathers, smiled serenely as Leonie and Travis made their way to her. Leonie was almost certain she heard Loghain's snicker as she licked bone-dry lips. Hearing that familiar sound of his gave her nerves a quick death and she felt her own confidence flowing back into her blood, chasing the butterflies away. Her smile stopped wobbling.

"Gather ye near," Gambhira called softly.

Leonie heard the rustle of movement behind her as people gathered closer. She met Gambhira's kind gaze and found her smile widened. Gambhira winked and glanced at Loghain.

"Do you have the bonds that will unite you and Leonie Caron?" she asked.

Loghain withdrew a long cord, green in color, and handed it to Gambhira who then nodded to Travis. Travis took Leonie's right hand and placed it on Loghain's right hand. It was only then that Leonie noticed a sprig of holly in Loghain's left hand. Gambhira wrapped the cord around their joined hands four times. She then placed a hand on the top of their hands and the other one beneath their hands. Closing her eyes, Gambhira began to chant.

_Come ye to us here, O deities of the Air  
With your light and clever fingers  
Tie closely the bonds between this pair._

_Come ye to us here, O deities of Fire_  
_Give their love and passion_  
_Your all-consuming flames of desire._

_Come ye to us here, O deities of Water_  
_Give the deepest of love, in soul and spirit_  
_To these, your son and you daughter_,

_Come ye to us here, O deities of Earth  
Let your strength and constancy  
Be theirs for all their lives  
Give them courage and hope and mirth.  
_  
Gambhira opened her eyes and smiled, a warm and loving smile for all of those gathered. "Now our chieftain must bless this bonding. Give heart and mind to his words."

Travis moved to stand beside his mother, his eyes serene, his smile as soft as morning's first glow. He placed his hands over his mother's hands. He kept his eyes on Leonie and Loghain and then he began his chant on a low, melodious note.

_Above you are the stars. Gaze upon their hallowed light.  
Below you are the stones. Walk softly upon their backs._

_Remember_  
_Like a star should your love be constant_  
_Like a stone should your love be firm_  
_Be close, but not too close_  
_Have patience each with the other_  
_For storms will come, but they will go quickly_  
_Be free in the giving of affection and warmth_  
_Make love often and hold fast to dreams,_  
_Give not anger a foothold in your hearts,_  
_Nor bitterness room at your hearth_  
_Rejoice each day in celebration of your union._

Travis opened his eyes and nodded at Loghain. Loghain cleared his throat and spoke in a low, emotion roughened voice.

"I give you my heart freely and ask for yours. I give you my trust and ask for yours. I offer you holly, a pledge of protection and happiness."

Tears, unbidden and uncontrollable, began to slide quietly down Leonie's cheeks. She let them fall, her heart overwhelmed with love. Never would she have thought Loghain such a romantic man to be moved by the solemnity of the ceremony, or the beauty of their surroundings. She had believed she knew him well and now she realized how much more there was to learn. The thought brought a smile that shone through her tears.

Travis turned to her and nodded encouragingly. Leonie recalled the words the three women had taught her while preparing her for the ceremony.

"I give you my heart freely and accept yours. I give you my trust and accept yours. I offer you heather that we might share our dreams and ever have romance, I offer you this snowdrop so that hope will always reside in our home."

"So it is done. Only those who have bound themselves together may undo those bonds. Upon the winds we bestow this truth that it may reach all the realms of man."

Loghain lowered his mouth to hers in a kiss that was sweet and soft and spoke of promises for later. Travis nodded, clucked, reached up and touched her cheek softly.

"Don't forget, hope resides in your home," he whispered. She nodded. Hope. It seemed a foolish notion, given her tainted blood, but she pushed that thought away. This was a time to rejoice, to celebrate and before she could do more than smile, Anders was there to hug her and tease her about being an old married lady.

Phillipe, looking as handsome and regal as ever, gave her a formal bow and offered his felicitations before bestowing them on Loghain as well. Loghain was magnanimous in his victory, favoring Phillipe with a stiff bow and cool, self satisfied smile. Leonie felt any urge to cry give way to laughter. Loghain's smirk had returned.

They were led to a long, low table, laden with food and ewers of elderberry wine. They sat on the wooden planked "floor" and feasted. Loghain, cheeks flushed from the wine, rested a hand on her thigh and leaned close. "How long do we have to stay, Mistress Mac Tir?" he whispered, the breath tickling her ear.

"You must ask Travis. I have never participated in bondage before," she teased, grinning at his use of her new title. His cheeks reddened further.

After their meal several people brought out musical instruments; pipes and drums and a harp. Dancing and singing followed. Leonie sat and watched, clapping and laughing as the party continued. Loghain's hand discovered her dress was not actually sewn and his fingers, warm and supple, played along her thigh. Her laughter died in her throat as her desire awoke.

"Go, find delight in each other," Gambhira urged, laughing as Leonie blushed hotly under the woman's knowing look.

Loghain helped her to her feet and they made their farewells as quickly as they could. Travis walked them back to the ropes, his smile still serene. There was so much she wanted to say, to ask, to thank him for, but he shook his head. "Tomorrow," he said quietly.

Just before being lowered back to the ground, she looked around again, her eyes and mind trying to capture each detail.

For the rest of her life, Leonie would always remember her marriage to Loghain through a green veil, from the overhanging branches of the trees, to the color of her robes, to the greenery in her hair and the sprig of holly that Loghain offered her. She would remember the green leaves, drifting down from above as they made their way to their tent, soft green alder leaves for endurance and passion.

A perfect moment in time, captured in her heart forever; veiled green dreams.

**A/N**: _The words that both Gambhira and Travis "chant" are actually a combination of a handfasting celebration I wrote for friends and from various other ceremonies. The items that Leonie wore, and those she and Loghain presented to each other, as well as their symbolism, came from various cultures.  
I hope to have a companion piece posted in the next day or so, a one shot of their "wedding night." _


	41. Chapter 41

**A/N: **_I know, I know, back to angst.  
I will be out of town from the 27__th__ of this month through the 30__th__. I hope to post a chapter each day until then._

**Blood and Trust**

"Good morning, Leonie Mac Tir," Loghain said with quiet amusement. Leonie opened one eye and then shut it, burrowing deeper into the furs.

"It cannot possibly be morning. I have just fallen asleep," she complained, voice heavy with sleep.

"Then who, I wonder, was snoring all night?" Loghain asked with an arched brow. He was dressed, braided, armored and highly amused. She tried to remember why she had married him. It was not immediately apparent.

"Up," he ordered, arms folded as he continued to stare at her with his arched brow and his wintery blue eyes.

She glowered at him and when it was apparent it was having no effect on him, she pushed the furs away. Cool morning air chilled her body and made her eyes open wide. She shivered and stood up, stretching and yawning. Loghain seemed disinclined to look away and she blushed rosy at his leer.

Warm water and a wash basin stood on a makeshift table made of two tree stumps and with a plank of wood stretched between them. She scrubbed her face and then gave herself a quick wash all over, before reaching for her smalls and her padding. Someone had washed her padding and she buried her face in the rough material, breathing deeply. It smelled like springtime and it brought a smile to her face.

Loghain came to help her buckle into her armor, stopping occasionally to kiss her brow or cheek or lips. Her smile grew with each kiss. "I love you, Loghain Mac Tir," she told him, "even if you are so unkind as to wake me."

"I love you, Leonie Mac Tir, even though I _had_ to wake you," he replied with a quirk of lips.

His face took on a serious expression, his tone no longer teasing. "There's a lot to do, and I want us back at the Keep with the fortnight, sooner if possible."

He was worried, she realized. No more than she was but there was little they could do at present. She gave him her most reassuring smile. "They need time to find an answer, my love. Being there will not make that happen any sooner," she told him gently and hesitated.

Taking a deep breath, she continued firmly, "There is a possibility we will need to find the Grey Warden cache in the Blasted Hills. There may be records there that –"

"You are absolutely insane if you think you'll be the one going there," he objected harshly. "You really think I'd allow such a thing?"

There were times when Leonie regretted giving Loghain command. Especially, she thought sourly, when he objected before she had time to explain herself. But she had given him command and now was not the best time to argue with him. She could hear the sounds of people outside their little haven and she wasn't about to have a yelling match with so many ears listening. And there were other matters that were more important at the moment, and they would no doubt cause even more consternation.

"Perhaps I spoke too quickly," she replied with quiet constraint. "Perhaps it will not be necessary to discover the cache."

His eyebrow shot up, his expression suspicious. "You're giving up? Just like that?" he asked, the skepticism ringing in his voice.

"I suspect we will find other things to fight about," she replied seriously.

Loghain stilled, his eyes sharp. His frown deepened, etched lines forming between his brows and at the corners of his pressed lips. Unconsciously, she reached up and smoothed the lines with her fingers.

"Do not look at me as though I have grown a second head," she bade him softly before turning to pick up her gloves and gauntlets. "Let us discuss our plans, yes?"

For a moment he looked as though he would argue with her, that he would demand answers. Leonie waited patiently, knowing that the glow of their wedding night was about to give way to the reality of their lives. She realized she had tensed, that her breath was held and she let it out slowly.

Loghain set the wash basin and ewer aside before unrolling a detailed map of the Wilds. His long, slender finger traced several arcs on the map and Leonie followed them, bending lower to read the place names, which were too small to be actual towns. They were small settlements and even smaller bodies of waters or groves of trees whose names sounded foreign to her.

"According to the map we're only two days ride from the heart of the Blightstorm," Loghain said, pointing to the large ring he'd marked on the map and at the center he had written the word 'heart.' "According to Gambhira the heart should be in that location. Riordan's notes confirm that."

"How long will it take to ride the perimeter? We must cleanse the spreading taint first, to halt its progress. I do not wish to see the Chasind lose any more of their land," Leonie said quietly, slapping her leather gloves against her thigh. She glanced at Loghain, who was frowning.

"Two weeks, perhaps a bit more. Wouldn't it make more sense to examine and close the heart first? Won't the taint continue to spread if we don't?"

Leonie frowned, considering his question. "If so many tribes were not affected I would agree, Loghain, but if we create a wide enough break between the tainted and healthy land, the taint will be contained. We must work quickly and if needs be, we shall work through the nights as well. With Travis's tribe assisting us, it will go quickly."

"More quickly if we split into two groups," Loghain replied. Leonie nodded. It made sense but the thought dismayed her. It meant that one of the things she had dreaded mentioning to Loghain would have to be talked about.

"I suppose that is true if there is someone among the tribe that can create a hot enough fire. My concern is that large bands of darkspawn might pour out of the ground to protect themselves. The larger the group we travel in the safer we are but that will slow us down and put too many of Travis's tribe at risk. I do not want them tainted."

Another frown marred Loghain's face as he nodded. "What are you skirting around, Leonie? What are you trying to soften me up for?"

Leonie's face paled, she could feel the blood leaving her face. She knew what she must do. She had prepared for this, knew it was a possibility, and she knew Loghain would be very unhappy. She turned away from him, moving to her kit. She extracted a vial. "We should use blood as a weapon," she said softly.

* * *

Alistair turned in his saddle for the twentieth time in an hour. Avernus had insisted he was fit enough to ride and had doubled up with Darius but he was grumbling the entire time and their progress was slow. Galloping or even trotting hurt his old bones, Avernus claimed.

"Glaring at me won't put youth back in my bones, Chantry boy," Avernus said caustically.

"I'm not a Chan…oh you know what, forget it," Alistair grumbled, turning away from the ancient mage.

The Vigil was less than a day away now and Alistair wanted to be rid of the blood mage abomination. Levi had sent a pair of strapping Dryden men ahead of them to deliver the bulk of Avernus's possessions. He had insisted on bringing everything, claiming he would not live much longer and he would not die surrounded by unfamiliar items. He had also claimed he hadn't much time to live two years ago when Alistair had first met him. The old reprobate would probably outlive them all, Alistair thought in disgust.

The Dryden men, who had probably already arrived at Vigil's Keep, were twins; big and broad and blonde, strong as oxen and probably not much brighter. Sons of Mikhael Dryden, Ewan and Enoch were determined to become Grey Wardens. Mikhael Dryden, father to seven sons, was content to see them choose their own path and had bid them a somber farewell.

Karlin, rolling her eyes as the old mage continued to complain about the inequities of life, rode beside Alistair, sitting straight but relaxed in the saddle, guiding her horse with ease. She was still acerbic and there was always an edge to her tone, as if she could and would slice someone to shreds verbally. Well, he thought with a grin, she'd happily slice most of them with her daggers as well, but it was her tongue that was both bitter and cutting. Something had shifted in her, changed and the cutting edge had been softened somewhat. She was friendlier, at least with her three fellow traveling companions. If she was any friendlier with those at the Vigil remained to be seen.

"He needs a good, friendly kick in his bony ass," the elf claimed in an undertone. "I volunteer."

Sigrun, riding slightly behind them, spoke up. "Oh, no you don't! I'm a senior Warden and I claim that right," she chirped.

"Hey, what am I? Moldy cheese? I'm more senior than you are," Alistair complained plaintively.

"The standards for recruitment of Grey Wardens have fallen dramatically. I have served the Wardens for more than two hundred years. I believe that I'm the most senior," Avernus said with scathing disdain.

Darius, with a practiced hand, flicked the reins and his horse broke into a trot. Avernus let out an outraged squawk. Sigrun flashed a smile at Darius before facing forward. Alistair heard the muffled snicker from Karlin and she ducked her head, as if she was afraid to show the world that she had a smile. He already knew it was dazzling and he hoped to see more of it.

An hour later, much of which had passed in silence, Alistair saw the first faint outline of the Vigil's towers and battlements. His grin, now so near at hand, slipped across his face. Soon he would be rid of the mage. He would once again be sleeping in comfort and eating decent food. Life was definitely good. He glanced at Karlin. And getting better.

* * *

Nathaniel pushed the papers aside and rubbed his gritty eyes. While he knew the arling well, understood the complexities of running the arling, he hated doing it. Hated untying the knots his father had created with his petty jealousies and harsh cruelties. Loghain and Leonie couldn't return soon enough to suit him.

Tamra entered his makeshift office with a cup of steaming tea in her hand and set it at his elbow. She leaned down and planted a kiss on the top of his head. "You look like you could kill a bear barehanded," she teased, moving away to study him from across the expanse of the cluttered desk.

"Give me one and I assure you it will be done," Nathaniel promised, reaching for the tea with a murmured thanks.

"Avernus's room is ready and the Dryden boys are out in the cold, training like madmen. The cold doesn't seem to bother them at all," Tamra marveled.

"Ewan and Enoch want to be tested. I'm sure they can physically withstand the Joining and I'm sure they're powerful warriors. I'm just not sure they will ever be more than recruit material. Between the two of them they haven't enough sense to come out of the cold," Nathaniel sighed. "I don't want Loghain and Leonie to come back and wonder what I was thinking by putting them through a Joining."

It was that, the weight of command, of making life or death decisions, which sat so heavily on Nathaniel's shoulders. And, were he to be honest with himself, it was the weight of needing their approval, Loghain's in particular, which put a frown on his face as he stared at Tamra.

As always, she was practical and calming. "They left you in charge because they trust your judgment. You need to stop worrying about these things, Nate, before they eat you up inside. Believe in yourself. I believe in you and so do Lion and Loghain."

Nathaniel pushed his chair back and came from behind the desk to pull her into an embrace, grateful for her steadying hand, her assurances. "Father nearly destroyed everything my family spent generations building. If I could bring him back to life, I'd kill him myself," Nathaniel admitted quietly, realizing how true it was, how much he wanted to do just that.

"I would gladly help but he's dead and you've come so far in redeeming your name, Nate. People view both you and Del as the best of the Howes. They appreciate the things you've done, they admire you. What more do you need than that?" Tamra asked quietly, her smile soft.

"You," he replied, trying to let the weight of command settle less painfully on his shoulders. "And twenty more hours in a day," he added with a ghost of a smile.

Varel announced that Alistair's group had been spotted on the road. Nathaniel wasn't sure if he was relieved to have them back or disappointed at the additional work it would involve having them home.

* * *

Loghain was silent for so long Leonie thought he might have left their tent in favor of breaking a nearby tree with one mighty blow. She finally turned to find him gazing at her with such hurt that her conciliatory words died in her throat. He quickly turned his gaze away, his jaws twitching.

"Why would you even suggest such a course?" he finally growled, his face once more settled into a scowl, his eyes cold and hard as he turned to face her. He had buried his anguish underneath anger, a familiar mantle that made Leonie feel even guiltier and unaccountably sad.

"Hear me out, Loghain," she began, moving to him. "If we split into two groups, you can travel to the far edges on horseback with only a few men. It will shorten the amount of time it will take to accomplish our objectives, yes?"

Loghain's eyes were no less cold as they pinned her, holding her in place. She found herself unable to look away, as badly as she wanted to block out the accusation in his eyes, the hurt.

"And this is your idea of fighting the effects of the Calling? Exposing yourself to the very thing that has sped up the process?" he hissed furiously.

Leonie took a step forward, her eyes still on his. "We know that the blood will drive away the darkspawn, Loghain. It should be long enough for you to set the fires. I will be far enough away that it will not cause me harm," she explained, hoping her voice conveyed the certainty of her belief.

"I brought the vial along as a precaution. It seems now is the time to use Svanar's blood to our advantage," she concluded with absolute conviction.

"You brought that vial of blood along and didn't even bother to tell me you had it," he accused coldly, holding himself rigid and distant.

"I do what I must to protect the lands of man," she replied calmly, forcefully. "If that means stopping the taint from spreading or fighting a horde of darkspawn, I will do so _by_ _any means necessary_. I am a Warden and until I can no longer perform my duties, I will do what I have to. That is what I am, Loghain."

"What you are? What you are?" he asked, his incredulity warring with his anger. He stepped forward, pulling the vial from her hand. He looked as if he had been struck in the face and Leonie found it almost impossible to keep her eyes locked on his.

"What you are? I'll tell you what you are, Warden. You are a reckless, irresponsible fool," he continued, harsh and disdainful.

The words hurt as they slammed into her. She fought to keep her own gaze calm and steady as she reached out and brushed back the fall of a dark braid as it rested against his pale cheek. He had every reason to say them, to be hurt and angry. She reminded herself of that, holding her own temper at bay, not difficult as it was being overwhelmed by her growing sense of guilt.

"You know this is the wisest course, Loghain. I promised I would fight my Calling, and so I shall. But I will fight on my terms. _Mine_," she emphasized, slapping her hand into her silverite encased chest for emphasis.

Loghain shook his head, his braids swinging with the vehemence of the action. "You might have trusted me with this before we left," he said in a harsh whisper. "You might have at least shown some modicum of trust in me."

Leonie nodded again, emotions warring within her. She wanted to beg for forgiveness, she wanted to explain her actions calmly, she wanted him to understand she did what she felt was necessary and that no matter what else happened between them, she would always do so. She was wrong to have done what she did on an emotional level, but on a practical level it was the right thing to have done. She hoped he would come to realize it.

"I could have told you, Loghain, true enough. But would you have let me bring the blood had you known about it? Or would your need to protect me at all cost have prevented you from seeing the wisdom of such a course?"

Loghain's eyes widened slightly as a truth hit its mark. "So you decided what I would do without even asking? Does that make it somehow right then?" he asked sarcastically.

Leonie sighed. "I suppose not," she agreed. "I did not do this to hurt you, Loghain. I did this to protect you," she added, turning away. "I will not ask you to make decisions in regard to my Calling. You would feel the same, I think."

Tears were gathering, a storm of them pressing thickly in her throat and burning at her eyes, temporarily making speech impossible; even breathing was a chore. Maker, she loved him, she wanted things to always be good between them, as they had been these past two days, but she did not want to put him in a position where he would have to decide if her life was more important than the lives of others. Such a decision would destroy him. Such decisions had already scarred his soul. She would not add to those scars. She _could_ not. Even if it meant he would hate her for it.

Loghain's voice was rough and only slightly warmer. "I know why you did it. I even understand why you kept it a secret. But I am the commander, not you. As such, it was my decision to make, not yours. Don't you ever do anything like that again," he snarled.

Leonie nodded mutely. There were no words she could say to mitigate the hurt and anger he was feeling, she knew that. Her heart screamed for her to speak, to ease his pain but no words of wisdom were forthcoming. Loghain had no such problem.

"As your commanding officer, I understand the need for the blood. But I'm not just your commanding officer, Leonie _Mac Tir_," he began and then stopped, his voice softening infinitesimally. "I'm your husband and as such I'm deserving of your trust, your honesty," he admonished, his tone cold but underneath the ice was a layer of hurt that she hated to hear, knowing she had caused it.

Her storm of tears broke with a deafening silence, sliding down her cheeks, to run along her jaw and drip off her chin, hot and silent in their condemnation of her. She kept her back to him and refused to allow her sobs to join her tears. He was right to be angry and hurt and she should have told him, but she was also right. His need to protect her would have prevented him from even considering the notion of bringing Svanar's blood with them.

His pain, the pain she had inflicted, was not worth being right. All she could do was nod her head, afraid to speak through her tears. She raised her head slightly, her chin tilting but would not turn and look at him. Her tears had been silent and she would not use them as an emotional weapon.

"Have you nothing more to say on the matter?" Loghain asked and his voice was closer to her, he had stepped nearer. She wanted to turn and throw herself in his arms and ask for forgiveness, to undo what had already been done.

Shaking her head, she willed her tears to cease. It was the taint, the Calling, that made her so emotional at times, that made her cry for no reason, that made it hard for her to remain in command of herself. She hated it, fought it to no avail at times. She wondered how long before she had absolutely no control at all. A shudder went through her at the thought, and she tried to push the thought away. Fear was an enemy, a disease that would be as deadly as the poison gathering strength in her blood.

Reaching deeply into her well of pride and obstinacy, she forbade another tear to fall. The tears obeyed, much to her surprise. She took a deep breath and then another before she turned to face him.

"You are right, Loghain. I have hurt you and I would not wish ever to do such a thing. I do trust you, but I also know that you are blind in this one area. You would have forbidden it, would you not?" she pressed him.

Loghain had the grace to nod his head once before reaching out with his fingers to brush away the remains of her tears. "I would have. I resent that I wasn't given the opportunity to do so."

Leonie sighed, leaning into him, resting her head against his steel clad chest. "As would I, were the foot resting on the other shoe," she agreed only to hear him snicker. She rolled her eyes, stepping back to meet his cool blue gaze.

"I believe you mean if the shoe was on the other foot," he corrected, his tension easing a bit.

"Exactly so," she agreed with a sigh.

"Truly, Loghain, I am sorry for hurting you. It was never my intent to do so," she added quietly.

Loghain took her chin in a firm grip and stared grimly at her. "Then do _not_ do it again," he said. He was all polished steel, glinting and sharp edged.

"Yes, Commander Loghain," she said contritely, meeting his look unflinchingly.

He stared at her searchingly and then nodded, as if satisfied. He let go of her chin and turned back to the map.

"I'll take Anders with me, but I want Travis to stay with you," Loghain said without looking at her.

"Yes, Commander Loghain," she replied respectfully, coming to stand beside him.

Feeling foolish and mean spirited and right but somehow wrong, Leonie had the desperate desire to go back and undo what she had done. No matter the reason, no matter how _right_ she felt the reason was, she had been wrong in the execution of it. Had she been the commander, she would have been for more vocal in her hurt and anger. She would have verbally flayed Loghain had the roles been reversed.

She put her hand over his as he traced a line on the map, remembering a map she had recently gifted him and the solace and grace of that moment. Leonie squeezed his hand gently before withdrawing hers. She focused on the map in front of her as he talked.

It was decided that Loghain, Anders and two hunters, experienced at horse riding and fighting, would work their way around the southern edge of the blighted land and Leonie and a group of fifteen, including Gambhira and Travis, would meet them on the eastern edge in six days, at a place called Lenni Lenape.

She explained that the fire needed to be hot enough to scorch the land and burn the tainted grass and trees quickly and that anyone not a Warden should not breathe in the smoke. He listened carefully to her and when she was finished, he remained silent for long moments. Moments that pushed on her chest, heavy and stifling like the air before a thunderstorm.

"Is there anything else you need to tell me?" he asked quietly.

Now. Now was the time to tell him. She hesitated, looking at the ground, the pattern of leaves painted on the tent walls, anywhere but at Loghain. Leonie felt a wave of panic at the thought of putting into words what she knew she had to. He was right, he was her husband and she had had vowed to trust him. She did trust him; she didn't want to hurt him. Sighing, she looked down to see she was twisting her fingers nervously. Loghain reached over and stilled them.

"You must tell Travis that I am not to be left alone under any circumstances," she finally said, voice hushed with the weight of her admission.

"What is it?" he asked with quiet authority, his hand on hers tightening.

"I – I hear them more frequently now; mournful and low, like the suggestion of a headache or the humming of bees. I – sometimes I can understand what they are saying," she confessed, staring at his hand as it covered hers.

"What are they saying?" Loghain asked on the whispered wings of fear. He removed his hand to pull her to him. She could feel his breath stirring her hair. She thought she could hear his heart beating loudly against his armor.

"They want me to stop their pain."


	42. Chapter 42

**Hope**

Gambhira was waiting for them when Leonie and Loghain stepped out of their tent. "I have an idea," the woman said with a smile lighting her face. She ushered them to the fire that was crackling happily in the misty morning air.

"We can contact the other affected tribes and have them begin the fires, allowing you to travel straight to the heart. Our Cloud Dancers will travel quickly and should reach all the tribes within a few hours."

Leonie looked at the woman in surprised confusion. "Cloud Dancers?" she found herself asking, although her mind was churning with questions of greater importance.

"Shapeshifters who have the ability to change into birds," Travis answered for his mother, coming to stand beside Leonie. "They can shift into other creatures but they focus on bird aspects. It makes them remarkably fast flyers."

"We could be done and on our way to the Vigil in less than a week," Loghain commented thoughtfully. "The other tribes are willing to help us?"

Another smile lit Gambhira's face. "They will help. We have lived here long enough to know that only by assisting sister tribes will our numbers grow and thrive."

The fog that permeated the air seemed to shift as they stood there and she heard the sound of beating wings before Nemishia appeared out of the mist. She came forward and tipped her head politely. Leonie could only assume that Nemishia was a Cloud Dancer, though every hair was in place and she looked as willowy and beautiful as ever.

"Mother Gambhira, we are ready at your command," the woman said quietly.

Loghain and Leonie quickly began to explain about the necessary heat the fires would have to maintain, about the need to avoid the smoke. Gambhira took in the information with a serene smile. "It shall be done. As soon as we know you are safely there, we will start the fires. They will burn outward from the heart. Our Cloud Dancers will start them. They will have my magic to guide their fires."

"Don't worry, little one. The fires will not harm us," Travis assured her as Leonie exchanged an uneasy look with Loghain. She wondered if Travis saw every thought she had.

"Will you need the Cloud Dancers to aid you when you reach the heart?" Nemishia asked in her rich contralto.

"No, I believe Leonie has taken care of that," Travis said calmly and Leonie swiveled her head to meet his eyes.

"How do you know such things?" she asked on a breathless note of surprise.

"How does one know the sun shines or the rain falls?" he asked with a shrug.

Gambhira laughed. "Don't let him get away with that mystical act of his. He knows because you are what we call a beacon. Your thoughts and feelings shine from you and those of us with any talent in understanding thoughts and feelings can easily discern yours."

Loghain snorted. "A talent I wish _I_ possessed," he said, lips twitching.

Leonie felt a wave of embarrassed color suffuse her cheeks. "_All _my thoughts and feelings?" she asked, her voice little more than a squeak.

"We could if we really tried, I suppose, but it's usually just those thoughts that are intensely emotional for you that shine from you," Gambhira assured. Leonie did not find her words particularly reassuring.

"Don't look so mortified, little one. We don't try to read your thoughts and emotions, it's only when they bombard us. Usually we just block them out," Travis said with a cluck that was almost sympathetic. Almost. She thought he might actually be enjoying her discomfort.

"Anders and Phillipe are enjoying breakfast in the trees. They will be down shortly. I imagine you want to be on your way," Gambhira said, breaking the silence that had formed around Leonie's embarrassment.

"You needn't worry so, Leonie. Remember that hope resides within your home," Gambhira whispered, placing a hand on Leonie's cheek. Leonie felt a flow of warmth from the touch, a calming tide that seemed to enter her and stay with her.

"Nemishia, gather the others and have them leave immediately. I expect you to stay near the heart and relay information to us," Gambhira continued, turning to look at Nemishia.

"Yes, Mother Gambhira. It will be as you say," the younger woman responded and then turned to look at the group huddled around the fire.

"Be safe," she said and stepped into the mist. Seconds later, Leonie heard the sound of wings taking flight.

Horses saddled, packs and gear stowed, the group started out. Leonie had tried to talk Phillipe into returning to Amaranthine and taking the ship back to Orlais. He would not hear of it. He would continue traveling with them.

Just before they left the clearing, Leonie turned back, looking up at the treetops. If one didn't know they were there they would never spot them, she thought, squinting to see the blurred outlines of the small village in the trees. She closed her eyes, the memory of the ceremony floating into her thoughts. Opening her eyes, she glanced at Loghain, who was watching her.

"It wasn't a dream, you really are married to me," he said in amusement. "Foolish child."

She brought her horse close to his, smiling pertly at him. "Impetuous man to ask such a thing," she replied.

"Indeed," he returned smugly.

He moved forward, setting a quick pace that had them all concentrating on controlling their mounts through the woods and swamp. Talking was nearly impossible, although Anders managed.

"So, how's married life?" he managed to ask Leonie. She turned her head slightly to grin at him.

"It has its moments," she replied, her grin becoming broader.

Anders returned her grin. "Well sure, just moments, because, you know, he's old," Anders returned with a complete lack of discretion in his loud whisper.

"I heard that, mage!" Loghain called without looking back.

Leonie's laughter was bright and lively as she pictured the expression Anders was most likely wearing; horrified and nervous with a dash of cocky.

"Hate you," Anders hissed at her and her laughter escaped again.

"Thank you, Anders. My day is not complete without those sweet words," she replied without turning her head.

"Sure, that and ogres," he agreed with his own snicker.

They rode on in silence until midday. Loghain stopped in a small clearing so they could rest the horses and eat. Already the smell of the tainted land was filling their nostrils. Heavy with the rank and rancid smell of decaying vegetation and the foul stench of rotting carcasses, the air seemed to hang like a death shroud with no wind at all to dissipate the smell. Leonie reached into her pack and pulled out a small bottle and several folded squares of material. She put a few drops on each cloth and handed them out.

"The fires will help but until then the smell will only get worse the closer we get to the heart, I fear," she explained quietly.

Phillipe went into the low bushes on the other side of the small clearing and she could hear his stomach emptying. Her flare of irritation that he had refused to stay behind or go home gave way to sympathy at his wretched expression. Loghain, looking grim and impatient, ate his square of bread and cheese seemingly oblivious to the disgusting odors that clung to the air so tenaciously.

"We shall start seeing the physical presence of the taint soon," Leonie warned them as they prepared to mount once again.

Loghain came to stand beside Bendis. His look was concerned. "Are you experiencing anything unusual?"

Leonie smiled, stretching down from the saddle to touch his cheek lightly with her gauntleted hand. He was asking if she was hearing voices and she loved him for trying to spare her feelings.

"All is quiet, husband," she replied softly. He looked at her, brow quirked. "I give you my word," she added with a slight huff.

"Good," he replied and then gave her a brief flash of a smile before going back to Taranis and mounting.

Less than an hour later they rode out of the thick underbrush and forests into the depths of a nightmare. Black tendrils, edged in deep red, spread trails of death in their wake. Vines of taint wrapped around brush and tree and ground alike, squeezing and sucking the life from everything. Trees, once tall and majestic, were bent over, bleached white like unearthly skeletons marching into the distance to a nameless grave. Fat strands of black curled relentlessly around anything that had once lived, creeping with inky fingers to wrap around animals and grass alike. The silence was both haunting and ominous.

Their horses began to protest and Anders gave a startled yelp as his horse reared. Leonie wheeled her horse around and grabbed at the bridle and settled the horse.

"Loghain!" she called sharply, pulling up. She slipped out of her saddle and landed with a soft thud. Bendis was pulling at the reins, eyes wild.

"We need to put blinders or something on the horses!" she called above the sound of Bendis neighing and snorting, stamping in agitation.

Taranis did not seem agitated and Leonie assumed it was because Taranis was a war horse, as Vixen had been. She was surprised that Bendis was not, surprised that the horses supplied by the Grey Wardens of Orlais were not battle broken. She was also surprised that Apsara hadn't thrown Anders, who was not the most expert of riders. Anders was grinning in a terrified way that made Leonie want to giggle. She would have, had she not been busy trying to calm both horses.

Phillipe had already dismounted and was leading his reluctant stallion forward. "We can hood them for now if we need to," he said quietly, but his horse was not nearly as excited as Bendis and Apsara were.

Leonie looked around for Travis, who was sitting calmly on his equally calm horse, Vaneta. In fact, Leonie thought Travis looked entirely too relaxed. He almost appeared to be smiling at her. She felt a sharp tug on the reins and loosened her grip, giving Bendis room to work off some of her agitation. Bendis snorted and stamped.

Loghain took Apsara's reins and Leonie reached out a calming hand, voice soft as she stroked Bendis.

"Interesting choice for a wedding trip," Loghain remarked dryly.

"Well it is Ferelden, after all," she retorted, surprising him into a huff of laughter.

Bendis refused her blinders and settled down but Apsara, though anxious and fretful, finally stopped balking once the blinders were in place. Anders was as pale as a winter moon but he was trying to shake it off.

"This is where I say I hate being a Grey Warden," he groused. "Well, except for the part where I met Aura," he added with a wan smile.

They pushed the horses as hard as they could over the uneven, blight eaten landscape. Pools had dried up, thickly tainted shores mocking them as they rode by. The sun, no longer softened by the mist of the Wilds, hung bitterly in the pale blue sky. No wind blew, no animals stirred. They might have been the only things alive in Thedas, Leonie thought with a shudder. It was shortly after that when the group ran into the first band of darkspawn.

There were twenty of them but to Leonie's relief there were no ogres. She jumped to the ground, drawing her weapons. Loghain was beside her, his question unspoken but present in the look he sent her way. She felt the usual pull of darkspawn but heard no murmured voices. She shook her head and continued moving forward.

"Phillipe, stay with the horses. They will want to run and we cannot afford to lose them!" Leonie ordered. He looked as if he would protest but Loghain sent him a withering glare and Phillipe, with a slight lift of his shoulder, fell silent.

The Wardens moved forward, Leonie and Loghain side by side. "I want you to retreat at the first sign that they're communicating with you," Loghain said with quiet force.

Leonie looked at him and then at the group of darkspawn approaching and finally nodded. "I will," she replied quietly.

The emissary was already casting as Anders prepared a spell. The emissary's spell caught Loghain in the chest and hurled him back several feet. "Now, Anders!' Leonie yelled and moved forward, sword a flash of steel and resolve. She got lucky, catching the emissary as he prepared the next spell, unguarded, his staff raised high. Her sword slid easily into his chest and then through his back. She twisted the sword as she pulled it back and the emissary slumped down.

Travis took up his shield and mace, coming to protect Leonie and they moved into the seething mass of genlocks and hurlocks. She wanted to look behind her, to see if Loghain was on his feet, but she was busy ducking and dodging and slashing. Travis was unrelenting as he pushed forward, beating a swath through the darkspawn.

She was just spinning around to catch a genlock who was aiming his arrow in Ander's direction when she heard it. A faint sound, hollow and faraway. A call for help. Had she imagined it? Her sword pierced the genlock's throat and she froze, listening. A woman's voice? She couldn't be sure if it was even a voice or the sounds of battle. She pushed her sword in and then removed it with one fluid movement before pivoting and moving on to another genlock. Her moves were automatic, acquired from years of practice and battling the darkspawn and she didn't stop until the last of her enemy fell.

Loghain was struggling to sit up and Anders was busy casting a spell. Loghain's face was a sickly shade of grey, his eyes glazed but he was snarling at Anders to let him up. Leonie stripped off her gauntlets and knelt down, brushing Loghain's dark hair away from his face. He glared at her. "Tell this mage to step back before I run him through," he growled at her.

"You are the commander, not I," she replied, turning her face away quickly to hide her smile.

"Anders, how is he?" she asked when she was sure her smile would not be reflected in her voice.

"The spell was nasty, nearly dislocated his entire chest," Anders said cheerfully, unbuckling Loghain's cuirass. Leonie helped him, staring down at Loghain's unusual pallor.

"He is not badly hurt?" she asked, setting the breastplate aside.

"I'm fine, stop fussing," Loghain commanded, sitting up. She saw him flinch and heard his quick intake of breath.

"Anders, if he gives you trouble, put him to sleep," Leonie said quietly.

"Didn't you just say he's the commander?" Anders yelped.

"And I am his wife. Do as I say," she replied with more conviction than she felt, expecting Loghain to put up a fight.

Loghain didn't argue. He closed his eyes, gritting his teeth as Anders created a soft blue glow that danced gently along Loghain's body. Leonie reached out and removed Loghain's gauntlet and slipped her hand into his, squeezing.

"Wow, I don't know what that spell was but I want one. Took his insides and shook them around pretty good."

"Which does not tell me how he is," Leonie said with a hint of reprimand in her voice. Loghain's eyes were closed and his nostrils flared as Anders continued with his healing spells.

"He'll be fine. Sore as Andraste on her wed…er…sore," Anders finished, shooting a look of apology at Leonie.

Leonie turned to see Phillipe, holding the horses and looking distinctly green. "Phillipe, please bring a waterskin."

Travis was cleaning his mace, looking pensively out at the pile of dead darkspawn. Leonie wanted to ask him if he had heard someone, _something,_ calling for help. Instead she helped Loghain drink some tepid water from the waterskin and then let him lean against her as Anders placed a poultice on Loghain's now bared chest.

"You are going to be sore and stiff and all shades of purple for a day or two," Anders told Loghain. "I'd suggest stopping for the night but I'm fairly certain you won't listen."

"Astute assessment," Loghain hissed, trying to sit up. Leonie held him with firm but gentle hands.

"At least take a few minutes, Loghain. We could all use a few moments to rest, yes?" she murmured softly into his ear. He nodded without comment, clearly unhappy with the delay. Even more so because he was the cause of it, she guessed.

Travis brought over the food pack and distributed flatbread and cheese. Phillipe waved it away and she saw the effort he made not to gag. She was exasperated with him and sorry for him.

"Phillipe, I have found that eating a few dried apple slices helps settle my stomach. Perhaps that would help?" she asked kindly.

"I have some in my saddlebag, in a small cloth bag," she added at his look of gratitude.

He brought the bag over and sat down beside her, offering one to her before he took one. She smiled her thanks and took it. Loghain made a low noise of discontent before Leonie handed him a piece of flatbread with a hunk of cheese and a slice of apple on it.

"Hush, you," she whispered against his ear. He quirked a brow at her and ate in silence.

They were mounting ten minutes later, Loghain determined to get as close to the heart as they could. They ran into two small bands of darkspawn, easily dispatched by Leonie and Travis. Loghain watched from his mount, irritable and silent. As she swung into her saddle again she heard a voice, faint and soft, more like the suggestion of a voice. She paused, halfway in her saddle, head cocked.

"What is it?" Loghain asked quickly, concerned. He edged his mount closer.

Leonie shrugged. "I do not know, just a sound. I heard it earlier but it is not darkspawn. I suspect it is nothing but imagination," she said with wry smile.

Loghain studied her for another minute and then nodded, turning his horse. "We have another hour of daylight. I suggest we use it."

None of them were able to sleep well that night. The fire was a meager, pathetic thing that did little to penetrate the darkness or warm them. Leonie gratefully removed her armor, taking out a rag and trying to remove some of the dried blood from it to no avail. Disgusted, she tossed the rag into the fire and sat in her padding, grateful for the cool night air.

Tomorrow they would find the heart and with it the possibility of countless darkspawn. From this distance she felt nothing more than a steady prickling sensation in her blood. She couldn't imagine what it must have been like facing the horde and the Archdemon.

She sat quietly, eyes staring into the darkness. Loghain was beside her, a blanket draped around him but also awake. She was trying not to touch him and every time he moved he hissed softly in pain. Anders came over and a soft blue glow surrounded Loghain. Anders handed Leonie a fresh poultice. She carefully removed the old poultice and even as dark it was she saw the odd bruises taking form on his torso and chest.

"At least you will not be as colorful as you were after the ogre, yes?" she said softly. He grunted in reply but when she had tossed the old poultice onto the fire and settled back, he moved his hand to rest on her thigh, squeezing it lightly.

After that she was able to doze off and on, awakened every time someone shifted or changed position, her hand automatically reaching for her dagger. Loghain was leaning against her, breathing deeply, his hand still on her thigh. She was amazed that he could sleep at all and she found she was envious.

It was a long night and as soon as the first pale golden rays of the sun lanced the silvered dawn sky, they were saddling the horses. Two hours later they approached the heart of the Blightstorm. Leonie pulled up abruptly, surveying the landscape in horror.

The earth had been cleaved in two and then torn asunder leaving a gaping hole in the ground. The upheaval had tossed boulders haphazardly across the blackened, tainted landscape. Slimy tendrils of death were snaking out of the chasm, grasping at the earth with murderous intent. The air, thick and foul, made Leonie gag. She reached for her square of cloth and tied it around her mouth and nose.

"Holy Andraste," Phillipe gasped as he brought his horse next to hers. He reached for his cloth and covered his nose.

"No heroics," Loghain instructed as he helped her down.

Leonie felt a frisson of fear, a creeping dread, as she stared into the abyss. Travis came up to her, resting a hand on her arm. "Do not fear this, little one," he said in his odd, sing song voice and Leonie felt reassured by it.

It took them nearly an hour to make their descent into the darkness. Leonie was shouldering a pack filled with explosives and only a vague idea of how to use them. Loghain carried a similar pack. As soon as she entered the tunnel she could feel the oppressive weight of thousands of darkspawn. She stumbled as her blood began to react with sharp pricks at her skin.

"You have the vial, yes?" she asked as calmly as she could.

"I do but I don't think we need to…," Loghain began but she interrupted him.

"There are thousands of darkspawn down here in these tunnels, Loghain. If we need to mix Svanar's blood with mine to give us the time we need to set the explosives or make our escape we can not hesitate."

They stared at each other for long moments, Leonie trying to convey her love for him, her trust and faith in him. Loghain bent closer, his lips against her ear. "I'll do what I have to," he conceded before stepping away again.

They discovered five tunnels and the first three collapsed with minimal effort; thunderous noise and billowing dust. Leonie could feel the darkspawn in the tunnels die as the tunnels collapsed.

The group was covered in dust and grit. Leonie had a headache from the noise created by the collapsing tunnels and she was sure she would be spitting dirt out of her mouth for days.

While searching for a weak spot at the entrance to the fourth tunnel, she felt the familiar stabbing pain behind her eyes. A Broodmother was nearby. She felt a pang of grief and anger, of helplessness. She glanced over and saw that Loghain and Anders felt the Broodmother as well, knew what it was. Travis seemed puzzled by the sensation he was experiencing for the first time. Phillipe was too numb to notice their reactions.

"_Yesssss. Death. Bring him."_

Leonie broke out into a cold sweat, the hair on her arms rising. "Did anyone else hear that?" she asked around a thick, dry tongue. A woman's voice, but dark and tainted. She could almost feel the darkness invading her mind.

Loghain was beside her at once, his face grave and concerned. "Hear what? What did you hear?" he demanded, his voice sharpened by fear.

"Yes. Death. Bring him," she repeated and a shiver traced along her spine.

Travis moved to her, his face breaking into a serene smile. "Then take me to her," he said in a calm voice.

Head and heart pounding, she stared at Travis in dismay as realization crept into her.

"I – Travis there is no one here but a –" Leonie began and trailed off. Maker, don't make me do this, she begged silently.

And the voice came again, stealing into Leonie's head, whispering like a scratchy blanket at her thoughts, "_Time. Now_."

She looked beseechingly at Loghain. He came to stand with her, tried to say something but Travis cut him off.

"I lost her in the dreamscape. I think I know why now. Come, little one, take me to this creature I sense," he told her and he was so unearthly, eerily calm; at peace.

The pull and prickling of thousands of darkspawn, the dark tentacles of a Broodmother pushing at her brain were making Leonie physically ill. She was trembling like a leaf caught in a gale. Loghain slipped an arm around her shoulders.

"Travis, this creature is not like a normal darkspawn," Leonie began again but Travis tapped her cheek.

"Yes, I know. But you can hear her and if you try, you can make her listen to you as well," he reassured her.

With great reluctance and a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach, she led the way to the Broodmother. "We have very little time before a large group of darkspawn arrive through the other tunnel," Leonie warned as they picked their way deeper into the tunnel.

Her nose began to drip blood. She reached in her hip kit for a cloth. Anders cast a spell that cooled the cloth and she held it on her nose, pinching it. Her head was screaming at her, piercing into her brain. They crept forward and stepped into a small chamber.

"Holy Maker," Phillipe uttered as he beheld the Broodmother.

A human woman at one time she was nothing more than a ghoul who was breeding darkspawn. By Broodmother standards, she was smaller than most, almost delicate in the remaining bone structure of her face. At one time she must have been lovely, but her face and body had been so distorted by taint and madness it was impossible to be sure. She was grotesque and twisted, but pitiable.

Travis moved closer and Leonie reached out a hand to stop him. She looked around for the tentacles and guardians that protected a Broodmother but there weren't any. Had the Broodmother been expecting them? Leonie wiped the dribble of blood away from her nose with her other hand just as Travis shook her hand off. He stepped forward, his smile a glow of joy in the darkness.

"Cerida," he breathed in relief.

"_Sleep. Spirits." _

Leonie frowned, confused by the words and then, as understanding came to her, she sat down on the dirt floor of the chamber and looked at Anders. "Put me to sleep Anders, with your mildest spell."

"No!" Loghain shouted, kneeling beside her. "This is killing you," he ground out. "Don't do this."

She reached for his hand, pulling the gauntlet off. "Stay with me so I can find my way back," she whispered, closing her eyes.

"Have faith, Loghain. She's safe with me," Travis reassured.

Loghain hesitated for a long moment before reluctantly nodding with no further protest. He sat down beside Leonie and gathered her up in his arms. She motioned for Anders to cast his spell.

_She was a lion, running through tall green grass on a bright summer's day. A jaguar, sleek and golden and covered in glossy black spots, ran beside her. There was joy in the air, joy in the feel of wind and sun. The lion roared softly in approval and the jaguar laughed._

_They came to a hummingbird, a beautiful creature with a ruby throat and jade green wings. The hummingbird sang a sweet song, keeping up with them as they ran through the fields. They stopped at the base of a large oak tree._

"_Thank you, little one," the jaguar said with great joy in his voice and the lion roared happily, delighted to help her friend._

_The hummingbird perched on the jaguar's back. The lion curled up at the base of the large oak and closed her eyes as the jaguar and the hummingbird talked, their voices a pleasant buzz in her ears. She was so very tired from running through the grass. So tired. The lion slept._

"Leonie! Wake up, damn you!"

Leonie blinked several times, waking with a start. She'd had the most frightening dream, followed by the most peaceful dream. Why in the Maker's name was Loghain shouting at her?

"Yes, yes, Loghain. Do not shout so. My head hurts," Leonie muttered thickly. He pulled her close, his lips soft on the crown of her head. As memory returned, she pulled away and looked for Travis, who was smiling at her.

"It's time to go. We need to bring this tunnel down," Travis told her, offering her a hand up.

Without saying another word, they set the explosives and moved toward the entrance of the tunnel. Leonie stopped and looked back once, felt the merest hint of a word sift through her headache to rest in her thoughts.

The explosion knocked Phillipe off his feet as the tunnel collapsed in a shower of dirt and debris. Leonie looked at Loghain, feeling panic creep into her blood. "They are almost here," she said in a shaky voice.

The steady drumbeat of a thousand darkspawn on the move filled the small area in front of the fifth tunnel. The guttural growling and howling filled her head and she cried out in pain as their terrible anger and hatred screamed inside her.

"Hurry," she urged. She took out her dagger and made a small cut on the tip of her finger, squeezing the blood onto the ground.

"No, we have time," Loghain argued but they knew that was a lie.

"Let me do this, Loghain. Take Lion out of here. I'll use the blood, set the explosives and meet you up top."

"Travis, no!" Leonie cried but the beating in her head, the razor sharp scraping in her blood made her voice and conviction weak.

"Hope, little one," Travis reminded her before he turned and nodded at Loghain.

"Get her away, quickly."

The group began the ascent. Tears blurred Leonie's vision and there were several times she stumbled, nearly tumbling back into the dark pit below them, already made smaller by the debris from the earlier explosions.

Anders was huffing and so grimly determined he seemed like a stranger as he helped pull her up. She turned to help Loghain once she reached the top and it was as she bent down a hand to him that she felt her blood explode and the terrible beauty of the song sweep through her brain. She fell to her knees, clutching at her head, afraid the pain would pull her into the dark, afraid the song would lull her into believing she _needed_ to go into the dark.

Loghain pulled her away from the edge and she felt Anders's soothing magic curl around her as she writhed and twisted, trying to escape the horrible pain and the siren call in her blood. Loghain was holding her, she could hear him speaking but couldn't comprehend what he was saying and then there was an explosion that rocked the ground beneath her and sent a geyser of dirt into the befouled air. A shrill scream, undulating, endless. Her own.

Profound silence followed. Her headache receded, the song stilled. She blinked, struggling to sit up. Loghain, his pale face streaked with grime and blood, bent low.

"Leonie?" he whispered, an edge of hope in his voice. She nodded. She felt dampness on her cheek and discovered Loghain's eyes were shining with unshed tears.

"Travis?" she asked, daring to hope for the impossible. Loghain shook his head.

"I don't see how he could have made it out in time," Loghain replied grimly.

Anders knelt beside them, casting another spell on Leonie and she felt the pain receding even more until there was nothing but the suggestion of a dull ache at the back of her head. Her blood told her the darkspawn in the tunnels had been eradicated. Tears burned her skin as they tracked down her cheeks. But at what cost?

"That was certainly exciting."

Leonie's heart quickened and she turned her head in the direction of the sound. Travis, a mess of dirt and soot, his armor shredded, smiled at her. She sobbed into Loghain's shoulder, afraid to believe her eyes until Travis touched her head lightly.

"Hope," he said only.

**A/N:** _This is a rather long chapter for me but I wanted to end it on a good note just in case I don't have time to post tomorrow.  
Thank you to all of you who are reading this, especially those who have taken the time to review, to offer insight and to encourage me to continue._


	43. Chapter 43

**A/N:** _I am stunned and grateful beyond words that I've received over 500 reviews for this story. I was so sure I would lose readers as I continued and I'm honored that you all have stayed with it. Thank you so much.__  
- Several readers asked what the hummingbird represents in shamanistic lore. It represents love, beauty, the ability to heal, joy and happiness.  
- The next update will be after I return home, hopefully the 31__st__!_

**Celebrating Life**

Leonie let the warm water ease her aching muscles. She could feel every cut and scrape, every bruise and strain, as she sat in the deep, warm pool of water. The oil that Vilida had given her smelled of lilacs, soothing and sweet. She leaned her head back, dipping her hair into the water, eyes closed.

"You aren't going to start splashing about like a child, are you?" Loghain asked without opening his eyes. He was leaning against the rocky edge of the spring, his head back.

"Will it make you angry? Will you storm about and yell at me? Growl and stomp?" Leonie asked, settling beside him. She gave him a playful pinch.

"Don't be impertinent."

"Is that not the very reason you married me? For my impertinence?" she teased. He made a low sound, a rumble in his throat, as his hand snaked out and pulled her against him.

"I assure you that is most certainly _not_the reason I married you, Leonie Mac Tir."

Leonie sighed contentedly. "No matter the reason. It is done and there can be no undoing it."

"Indeed? Then I suppose there is no sense in trying to fight it."

His lips were soft and pliant as they caressed hers. She leaned into him, her fingers playing along the planes and angles of his face. She was breathless by the time the kiss ended, her heart beating wildly, her blood thrumming. She was alive and he was alive and the heart had been sealed and they were returning to the Vigil in the morning.

"I love you, Loghain Mac Tir," she announced as she climbed out of the spring. She reached for a bathsheet and wrapped it around her.

"How convenient," Loghain replied. He sank deeper into the water, a smirk dancing across his lips.

"Certainly convenient for you," she answered, hands on hips.

"Exactly so," came his smug reply.

Leonie looked around for something to throw at him. Finding no handy weapon, she dropped her bathsheet and jumped into the deep pool, sending a wave of water cascading over Loghain. Sputtering, his hair hanging in wet, limp strands about his face, he gave her his fiercest scowl. She laughed.

"Impudent chit," he growled, pulling her onto his lap.

"So you must punish me, yes?" Leonie asked, voice husky and suggestive as his hands skimmed along her wet skin.

"Most definitely," he replied, his lips warm against her throat.

Leonie was quite happy with her punishment and judging from the sated smile Loghain wore, he was just as happy with her retaliatory strike. They helped each other dry off some time later and, arm in arm, made their way to their tent.

"I would be quite content to spend the rest of my days here," Leonie said as she dressed in woolen trousers and a heavy linen shirt. "There is something restful about this life the Chasind live. I do not understand why others say they are barbarians."

"A myth they themselves perpetuate, as I understand it, to keep people from bothering them."

"Perhaps that is the…" Leonie trailed off, her voice lost in the cold wind that chilled her blood. She swallowed and closed her eyes for a moment. The sharp tingling, the painful burning of blood trying to escape her veins, the scorched feel of tissue and muscle brought her breathing to a standstill.

"What is it?" Loghain demanded, brusque and flat. He came to her side.

In answer, Leonie pulled her shirt off and looked down at her left shoulder. The area where the Childer grub had bitten her, where the affected area had taken so long to heal, was grey now. Necrotic tissue appeared, telling her the price she was paying for using her blood; so quickly that she had barely felt the pain before the tainted patch appeared. She had to remind herself to breathe.

"Never again!" Loghain snarled furiously, his hands clamped around her upper arms, his eyes burning into hers. "No matter whether you think it necessary or not it _will not_ happen again!"

"Loghain, you are hurting me," Leonie said angrily, trying to pry his steely fingers from her arms.

"I'm hurting you? You're killing yourself and I'm helping, Maker take me," he said, voiced etched in bitter acid. He dropped his hands and turned away from her.

Her anger sizzled along her nerves, fists clenched. She took a breath. And then another. By the third breath her calm had returned. She realized that he was feeling responsible, that he was taking the weight of the decision on his shoulders and she refused to allow it.

"Oh no you do not, Loghain Mac Tir," she began, determined and fierce. She reached out to him, placed her arms around his waist, pressing her cheek into his back when he refused to turn and look at her.

"Loghain, we made the decision together. In fact, I decided before I even left Vigil's Keep. Do not be so hasty in condemning yourself for this," she continued, inexorable. "I do not hold you responsible, my love. Nor shall you," she said and the strength of her voice, the command in it, surprised them both. He placed his hands over hers, squeezing gently, still refusing to look at her.

"Marrying you, sharing your life, these things have given me new purpose, new courage to face whatever future awaits us, Loghain. Allow yourself to feel that as well."

"You make that sound so easy. I assure you it is not," he said gruffly.

Leonie laughed softly. "It is not easy, Loghain, but it is necessary. For both our sakes."

He turned then, ducking his head slightly and bringing his lips down on hers for a deep, lingering kiss that spoke of all the things he still found difficult to say to her. Her heart heard them and was content, her anxiety slipping into the far corners of her mind.

"You've made us late," he complained but his lips were almost upturned and she laughed, tugging at his braids.

"Of course, it is always the woman's fault, is it not?" she purred, rubbing against him. His low rumble of want caressed her skin.

Before they could be further delayed, Travis called out to them. "I've come to talk to Leonie," he explained with a clucking noise.

He waited for Leonie and Loghain to step out of the tent. He was very quiet but not morose. He seemed to be introspective. As were they all, as if they were all coming to terms with what they had seen and experienced.

She had expected Travis to withdraw, to resign as a Grey Warden, but he had done neither, still intent on returning to the Vigil with them. His clucking and chirping had fallen silent on the trip back and that had worried Leonie but she heard it now and was reassured.

The trip back from the heart of the Blightstorm had been extremely quiet, each of them keeping to themselves. Leonie had been so tired she had fallen asleep in her saddle twice, the second time almost tumbling to the ground. Finally, exasperated and concerned, Loghain had pulled her up to ride in front of him. The gentle sway of the horse had put her to sleep in minutes and she awoke only when they stopped for the night. Whatever had happened when the blood was joined had left her exhausted.

Phillipe had been pale, a ghost of who he had been when he had first arrived and it worried Leonie a great deal. He stared into the distance as if he was searching for answers to things that he could not put a name to. Several times Leonie had tried to draw him out but his innate charm and resilience seemed to have disappeared, a victim of the heart.

Even Anders was unusually reticent and she had caught him watching her warily the second morning. She had sat down beside him and asked what he was so concerned about.

"I know you all think I'm just this incredibly talented, good looking mage but there isn't anything I can do to help you with those headaches. Nothing. I've got nothing in my bag of tricks to ease them, Lion. So stop getting them," he had said earnestly, a plea that went straight to her heart.

She promised to try and thanked him, reminding him that he _had_ helped her. She had never seen him so gloomy and for the remainder of their journey back she had tried to cheer him up. Nothing had worked yet.

Now, standing in the gathering dusk with Travis, Leonie blinked, surprised by the quick passage of time. She thought sunset was still hours away and yet here they were peering through the gloom as night approached.

There was a great deal of activity at the bonfire, wood being stacked, blankets being spread, people coming and going, chatting cheerfully. The tribe was preparing for a Life Celebration as they termed it, a celebration of Cerida's life. It was not permitted, Travis explained, for them to weep or bemoan their loss during such an event. Mourning someone in such a way was considered harmful to the returning spirit of the deceased and disrespectful to the Earth Mother.

"I am sorry I was not able to help Cerida, Travis. I know you do not blame me but I would wish that you had not seen her as she was," Leonie began and the tears trembled in her voice and on her lashes. "I am so sorry," she added around the lump of sorrow that had risen to her throat.

Travis clucked and it sounded as though it was a gentle reprimand. He patted her arm, smiling his serene smile. "You and Loghain, always so willing to accept blame when there is no blame to accept. You want him to let go of his guilt yet you wear yours like a bird wears feathers."

Tapping her cheek, he leaned forward with a kind and forgiving expression. "I knew she was gone, Lion. I knew that a long time ago, but I needed to find her, to make sure her spirit had risen to join those who went before her, that her body would be returned to the earth. I was able to say good-bye and that is a gift to be cherished, not something to be overlooked by her death."

Leonie reflected on his words, thinking of Riordan and Duncan, remembering the celebration dinners in Orzammar for those going on their Calling. When she died, she didn't want people to mourn her. She wanted them to remember her as she had lived, not as she had died. A certain peace crept into her, gently nudging the guilt out of the way.

"I look forward to the celebration, Travis, and I am glad beyond words that you will remain with us. Your friendship is a treasured gift," she said, her words heartfelt.

"Then grab that dour husband of yours and come feast with us. After the feast we'll gather at the bonfire down here to tell stories and share her history."

She sat with her fellow Wardens at a long plank, sharing wine and enjoying the bountiful feast. Across from her was Nemishia, sitting between Vilida and Travis. She caught Leonie's eye and smiled, the same tranquil smile that Travis wore. Not for the first time, Leonie thought that others could learn a great deal from the Chasind.

"I won't treat you like an invalid as long as you let me know when you need to rest," Loghain murmured against her ear.

"I will let you know as long as you do not hover over me or wear guilt that is not yours to wear," she replied softly. He growled. She huffed.

"Impertinent."

"Insufferable."

They spoke in unison.

Anders shook his head and stared at them. "Such a shining example of marriage," he said with a grin. "It's good to see," he added, a sincere sentiment.

The mood continued to lighten and for Leonie is was a strange experience, the jovial air as they prepared to honor Cerida. But she found herself laughing and talking, leaning against Loghain's warm strength, heart and mind at peace. Even Phillipe seemed to come out of whatever dark place he had retreated to, smiling at the scene before him.

As the tribe made their way down from their aerie to the bonfire, Leonie spied a woman she had not seen before. Stooped with age, her face as brown and creased as a walnut, she walked with the aid of a thick branch, carved into a graceful curve. Her rheumy eyes were pale blue, her silver hair thin and sparse.

"Niedda holds the sacred flame," Travis explained. "Knowledge begets illumination begets knowledge. She is our historian," Travis continued, smiling at her confusion. "She will start the celebration."

Leonie and Loghain stood with the rest of the tribe in a circle around the bonfire. The old woman began to speak in a surprisingly strong voice.

"In the time of the exodus, many of our people died, killed by the hand of man. We came to these forests, the Wilds, to celebrate a new home. Many more died as we settled the lands. The tribe broke into smaller tribes and it was decided that the first born would travel forth and help restore our numbers. So it was that the first born sons and daughters left our tribe and the first born sons and daughters from sister tribes came to us or traveled to other tribes. The second born learned the ways of their tribe and became teachers and leaders. We have survived and grown, our numbers are many and our traditions live. We celebrate this. We celebrate life. Tonight we celebrate Cerida's life.

"Cerida was born fair of face, second daughter and chosen for Travis. She was ever sassy, ever cheerful. She was dark and light. She was life personified. A joyous, lively presence. A gift from Mother Earth and to Mother Earth she returns. But each time you see a bird in flight, each time you hear the lilting song of a bird, each time you are graced by the beauty of flight, you will know she travels with you."

Niedda bent and threw something on the bonfire. The fire flamed a brilliant shade of yellow for scant seconds. "I give you a parting gift, a bright flame that you may always see your way home."

She stepped back and Gambhira moved to take her place. She wore a flowing gown of winter white, long strands of colorful beads and feathers hanging around her neck.

"Cerida was a gifted shapeshifter. A Cloud Dancer who learned the ways of the birds and became one. She was a hawk, sharp eyed and sharp willed when necessary, but it was as a hummingbird that she felt most joyous. She was love personified.

"Cerida, I give you this song as a parting gift that you might hear its sound upon the wind and know you reside in our heart."

She began to sing, ethereal and joyous, sweet, pure notes captured on the currents of the cool night air. Leonie had never heard anything so beautiful and unearthly; she was transfixed by it. When Gambhira finished singing, Leonie's eyes were misty but her heart was lighter, as if she had been given a gift as well.

Leonie felt Loghain's hand, warm and comforting as it held hers. He squeezed her hand gently. She didn't dare look at him, for fear she would cry and Travis had told her that this was a celebration of life, not of death.

Nemishia came to stand beside Gambhira. "Sister, twin, heart of my heart. She was mischievous and curious and loved to tease us all. She was never completely happy if we were not happy. Every time I hear laughter I remember her and smile. She was joy personified."

Stepping close to the fire, Nemishia took out a small bag and tossed it on the fire. A lovely aroma of sandalwood filled the air. "I give you sandalwood, the scent of home and happiness, that you may know our hearts are happier for having you in our life. Fly free, sister and know that I fly with you, always."

Travis moved to stand in front of his mother. He warmed his hands on the fire and looked up at the mist shrouded night. "She danced with the clouds, she sang with the birds, she leapt with the deer. She was nature personified.

"The first time I was told that she was my chosen, she was a squalling babe with a very red face. I told Mother Gambhira I would rather bond with a she-wolf. But when Cerida saw me looking down at her she stopped crying and began to laugh. She was not yet one and I was four. I didn't think much of her at the time. But as we grew older I saw beyond that and knew that she was my chosen and I hers. Not by birth, but by our kindred spirits. She was a bundle of energy, a life force that couldn't be denied; _wouldn't_ be denied. I knew I would have to share her and I didn't mind. The world is enriched by her essence even now.

"I don't mourn her passing. I am grateful for the time we had, I am thankful for her love and I celebrate her life. She is here, always. She is the air we breathe, the grass we sleep on, the sun that warms our face. She is in every one of us, gifts she gave freely and gifts we welcomed thankfully.

"In the last moments of her life, I was given the greatest of all gifts. A chance to walk the dreamscape with my beloved Cerida and it is that image lighting my smile and gracing my heart.

"Death is not the tragedy. Not living life to its fullest is. This we believe. She was our example and we celebrate that.

"Fly free, Cerida. Let the wind be ever at your back and the sun ever on your wings."

A cheer went up, followed by the sounds of pipes and drums as members of the tribe began to dance. Laughter filled the clearing as stories of Cerida were shared. Travis made his way to them, his eyes bright, his smile brighter.

"She was always curious about life beyond our tribe. When she asked to take some time to explore we sent her on her way with our blessings and love, knowing she might not return, but understanding her need to go.

"Her brother died fighting darkspawn. She told me in those final moments that they came across a group of darkspawn and the magic bearer stripped her magic before she could escape. Her brother fought with the strength of a bear but he fell and she fell into darkness. That was over nine years ago."

Leonie shivered as a light breeze stirred across the clearing, gentle as a caress. Nine years as a Broodmother. Yet Cerida had retained some bit of herself, somehow. Leonie could not imagine how much courage and determination that had taken.

"You gave me a gift, Lion. I knew you were going to lead me to Cerida," Travis said with an odd clucking sound that did not sound altogether happy. "And I know now that it cost you."

Leonie smiled, surveying the tribal members dancing and singing, sharing laughter and memories. She felt the relief and joy in Travis. It seemed such a small price to pay to see the look in Travis's eyes, to feel the happiness of his people as they celebrated life. She felt a smile bloom and grow as she squeezed Loghain's hand in hers. They had time now, to live for these moments, to celebrate a life together for as long as they had. Something Travis had not been afforded.

"It was worth the price, my friend," Leonie replied sincerely.


	44. Chapter 44

**Dreamers**

_Hold fast to dreams  
For if dreams die  
Life is a broken-winged bird  
That cannot fly.  
Hold fast to dreams  
For when dreams go  
Life is a barren field  
Frozen by snow._

_Langston Hughes (1902-1967)_

__

_

* * *

_

They gathered in the misty pre-dawn to make their farewells. Leonie didn't want to leave. In their very short time with Travis's tribe, she had come to care for Gambhira and the others. She was fascinated by their culture and the grace with which they lived their lives. She stared up at the treetops, once more remembering her wedding ceremony.

"You are always most welcome here, Leonie. You will always have a place at our fire," Gambhira told her as the two women stood face to face. Gambhira leaned her head forward, resting her forehead against Leonie's. A rush of warmth, a feeling of peace, flooded into Leonie, as if a gentle hand cradled her. "Fight the darkness, Lion."

"Loghain, I trust that you took pleasure in our hospitality? I see you smile more frequently than last you visited. Do not squander your gifts," Gambhira told Loghain with a twinkle in her eye.

"I assure you I won't," Loghain said stiffly. As if realizing how ungracious he sounded, he added, "You are as welcome in our home as we are here, Gambhira."

Gambhira smiled, nodding at him before turning to Phillipe. Leonie felt as though some silent communication, some understanding, had passed between Loghain and Gambhira. She was quite sure that Loghain would not divulge that information.

"Phillipe, you are a man of honor and your road will be long. Follow it to its end, no matter how difficult it is."

Phillipe looked startled, more flustered than Leonie had seen him before. "I will, Lady Gambhira," he assured her in a low voice, glancing at Leonie as he spoke.

"Anders, when you have the time you must come back here. We have much we can learn from each other, I think. You have the spirit of life in you and that is a rare gift."

Anders beamed. "I'd like that. Especially if you can teach me that really neat flying thing you do."

Gambhira and Nemishia, also saying her farewells, chuckled at the boyish enthusiasm in his voice. Leonie felt a smile twitching at her lips, easing her unhappiness at leaving.

Travis and Gambhira spoke softly to each other, murmurs shared only between them, heads tilted as forehead touched forehead. The radiance of Gambhira's smile as she stepped back seemed to envelop them all.

"Mount!" Loghain ordered and Leonie swung into the saddle, her eyes as misty as the morning. She looked back to see the large group of Chasind in the clearing, gathered to watch their departure. She raised a hand in farewell before they were lost in a shroud of fog.

* * *

Karlin Tabris had once dreamed of leaving the dirt and poverty of the Alienage behind and exploring, of finding a place where elves were respected. Jarren, Shianni and Soris had laughed at her naivety. Cousins and best friends, they played in the squalor of the Alienage, shared dreams and hopes. Jarren was taken away when his father, Cyrion, could no longer hide the boy's magical abilities. It was then that Karlin decided she would make something of herself, would leave the dust of the Alienage behind, no matter the cost, no matter the ridicule she was subjected to by Soris and Shianni.

She spent every moment she could learning to fight from her Aunt Adaia, learning to read from Valendrian, doing everything she could to better herself. She would head north to Kirkwall and from there to Antiva as soon as she had gathered enough coin to pay for her passage. She'd heard the assassin guilds in Antiva were full of elves who were treated like royalty. She set her heart on becoming an Antivan Crow.

She was taken on as a scullery maid in a minor noble's estate when she was sixteen. Because she could read and presented herself well she worked her way up to assistant to the noble's wife, Lady Bryanna a year after starting at Bann Faolan's Denerim estate.

When Soris announced that he was getting married, Karlin tried to get the day off but Lady Bryanna, who was a demanding and cold woman, told Karlin she couldn't possibly do without her for the day, that important nobles were coming for dinner and she needed Karlin's help to prepare.

She wasn't there when Shianni and Soris needed her. When she got home that night and discovered what had occurred her guilt overcame her. Growing up in the Alienage should have taught her that dreaming was just a fool's paradise. Her dreams died; cold ashes to be swept away by the harsh wind of reality. She was unable to look Shianni in the eye, was enraged by the injustice, the inequities. She quit working for the nobles, spent her time honing her skills and keeping a watchful eye on Shianni. She attended the wedding between Soris and Valora. She stood by Shianni's side during the purge and the quarantine, she fought in the Siege of Denerim and was atop Fort Drakon when Phindar Surana, an _elf_, stopped the Blight. But still she refused to dream.

Now, standing in the training room, smacking a dummy, she found herself beginning to dream again. Not of Antivan Crows and glory, but of friendships and a certain blonde shem who had befriended her.

She took another whack at the training dummy, smiling.

* * *

The nightmares started the first night on the road.

Travis was on watch. It was a cold, brilliantly star-studded night. In their tent, Loghain was curled around Leonie in a protective posture, as if he could somehow stop the darkness that was moving inexorably closer to her, threatening to tear his own dreams away from him. He listened to Travis whistling softly, heard Anders mumble in his sleep, heard the far off call of a nighthawk. Sleep evaded him. Or maybe he chased it away with his own restless and shadowed thoughts.

His Fade dream, unbidden and unwanted, crept into his thoughts; mocking him. As he listened to Leonie's soft breathing, he remembered a supper table and the family that had greeted him, the son and daughter that had brought unexpected joy to him. He remembered the moments before reality crowded in and destroyed the dream. A life he could not have but wanted if he allowed himself the honesty of admitting such a thing. He closed his eyes, willing his thoughts to focus on the woman in his arms, on her devotion to him, her devotion to duty.

He wasn't sure he had the strength within him to watch one more woman he loved fade away, to wither and disappear like spring flowers caught in the heat of summer. Or to be taken from him by a quick and brutal death as he watched helplessly. Loghain blinked. Once. Twice. He didn't know how he would find the strength to face the nightmares to come, the pain that hovered around his heart, waiting to be let in. He only knew he had to, somehow, for her sake.

She stirred in his arms, twitched. He tightened his hold on her, brought her even closer to him, wrapped a leg around her as if that would hold her in place when already he knew she was beginning to slip away. Her murmured breath floated against the skin of an arm that had wrapped around her in his need to protect her. He could almost feel the fear in her, the bleak blackness of her dreams, as she began to whimper and cry out softly in her sleep.

"Hush, Leonie. I'm here," he whispered against her hair. "I'm here."

For a brief moment he thought she would settle down and find a dream, rather than a nightmare, but she began thrashing, her voice hoarse and harsh; almost inhuman. She fought his hold, twisting and turning; desperation in her taut muscles. Her mouth opened and she was screaming, her voice no longer hoarse but high and loud and strident. He was vaguely aware of Travis talking to Anders and Phillipe, explaining it was just a darkspawn nightmare.

Loghain sat up, cradling her as she screamed, trying to hold her arms still when she tried to claw the taint from her skin. He attempted to comfort her with reassuring words that fell empty and lifeless around her. He rocked her and felt the wetness of her tears, could feel the terror that was driving her. Finally, without ever waking up, she settled down again with a final heart-wrenching whimper.

While she slept, he whispered his Fade dream against the soft skin of her cheek, hoping somehow his dream, no matter how impossible its reality was, would keep her nightmares away.

* * *

Fiona had spent more than twenty years avoiding thoughts of Alistair and a different life than the one she had chosen to live. Now that she had met him that had changed. Having witnessed the smile that was so like Maric's it robbed her of breath, every dream she had ever avoided, ever tamped down inside her, rose up. She couldn't sleep. Each time she closed her eyes, she saw Maric, wondered anew what life might have been had she chosen to reach for dreams rather than slay them.

There was no point, she thought bitterly, no point in speculating about a different life. She had chosen her path and there was no looking back, no second guessing. She had done what she honestly believed best for Alistair, for Maric, for herself. She still believed her decision was the best for everyone. That Loghain felt otherwise mattered not a jot. What he had done to Alistair was for more unforgivable in her mind. She'd had Alistair's best interests at heart and if the reality of Alistair's life had not lived up to the dreams she had entertained for him, that was life; cold, uncompromising and harsh.

Dreams were a romanticized version of life; impractical and impossible. They were nothing but a path to disappointment and disillusionment. Still, having finally seen her son, _Maric's_ son, she couldn't stop questioning herself and the decisions she had made for what she believed were the right reasons. Sleep, wrapped in the haze of long forgotten dreams, was elusive.

Tossing back the covers, she rose and slipped on her mage robes, slid her feet into her soft-soled slippers and crept downstairs to find solace in a cup of tea and some leftover sweetmeats. Varel found her there as she was making her second cup of tea.

"Warden Fiona," he said gravely as he found a mug.

"Seneschal Varel, you're up late. Or is it early?" she asked, taking his mug and placing more tea leaves in the strainer.

"Yes," he responded dryly. "As much as we'd like to believe otherwise, the arling doesn't run itself. Nathaniel's doing a fine job but there's always more to be done."

Fiona sat down across from him, pushing the plate of small sweet cakes to him in invitation. He took one and ate in quiet contemplation. Fiona was glad for the company, happier still that he didn't demand conversation.

* * *

Travis hummed softly, a disconsolate sound. His ability to find Leonie in the Dreamscape was coming to an end. He knew it as surely as he knew the sun would rise in the east and sink in the west. Soon she would have to rely on herself to find her way through the twisting blackness of the nightmares her taint was creating. Already he found it difficult and had not been able to reach her at all on several occasions.

Her latest nightmare, a seething ocean of corrupted and befouled bodies trampling each other in their need to reach her, to pull her down with them into the tainted darkness, had been nearly impossible to pull her from. Patches of the taint had eaten away at the tawny fur of her spirit animal. He had only seen that type of thing happen once before, with Cerida, just before he lost contact with her.

Dreams were as necessary as sleep itself was in restoring balance to a person, rejuvenating the spirit. He would have to talk to Leonie and Loghain soon. The thought brought on a feeling of great distress and he clucked softly. There was hope; he would keep reminding them of that but hope, in part, was sustained by dreams and it appeared that her dreams were fading into the hungering blackness that ate at her.

He sat by the fire, listening to Loghain's whispered words of comfort. He was speaking of a dream he'd had while in the Dreamscape, a dream created by a demon bent on absorbing his life force. Travis closed his eyes, tilting his head so that he could hear more clearly. A smile came to sit on his lips as an idea formed. Perhaps he could help them after all.

* * *

Avernus did not dream. Long ago he had given up trying to and after more than two hundred years he believed he'd had every conceivable dream. Entering the Fade, dancing with demons, no longer appealed to him in the least. He lay in the dark, staring at nothing. He'd had dreams once. Dreams of a successful rebellion, dreams of fame as a mage unequalled in power, dreams of his charismatic and courageous commander. They were all empty vessels, reminders of failure after failure. And his one chance to rectify that had passed him by with little more than a laugh.

He had demanded that Phindar take him along, to help quell the Blight, that as so senior a Warden it was his right to slay the Archdemon. Phindar, when he had stopped chuckling, had told him he wouldn't last a day in the real world. Smug little elf. Avernus had survived a day in the 'real' world as Phindar had sarcastically called it. There was nothing more real about this world than his own. Different, perhaps, but reality was a shifting, biased creature, shaped by the will and mental fortitude of those defining it.

The Weisshaupt Warden, Fiona, was a proud, prickly thing. When he questioned her research notes, her translations of ancient Arcanum, she had pried his spindly, brittle fingers off her journal and instructed him to be quiet unless asked a question, that he was more abomination than human. He'd laughed dryly at that, admitting there was some truth to her assessment, although the real abomination had been Sophia.

Tears in the Veil be damned. He had been so close to the perfect combination of spells and calculations, so close to discovering what had created the taint, what could enhance it to a degree of power unheard of. And now they wanted him to help create an antidote to the Joining? To save the life of _one_ woman? Outrageous waste of time and his abilities. She would die of the taint just as all Grey Wardens did eventually. He gave a dry, humorless laugh at that, the sound of parchment being crumpled. Two centuries of taint hadn't killed him yet.

He continued staring into the dark. Still, there was power in her blood unlike any other he had seen before. The young mage, Jarren, had told him in excited, breathless detail what had occurred when the blood of a talking darkspawn and the Warden Commander were mixed. Talking darkspawn? Sentience in the mindless creatures? Preposterous. Impossible. Yet a reality, if the others were all to be believed. It would prove interesting. Fascinating in a way his life hadn't been since the last of his test subjects had died. He reminded himself as he lay there, with sleep illusive and dreams forbidden, age may not come without a price, but it also came with rewards, including knowledge. His smile was a twisted thing haven fallen into disuse after two centuries.

* * *

Leonie awoke with a start, unsure for a moment where she was. She had expected to wake up in a bed with Loghain in their farmhouse, to the sound of Gareth and Beryl fighting over who would get the first flatcakes and honey. She smiled faintly as the dream vanished in the face of the morning sun.

Loghain stirred behind her. She turned in his arms to face him and watch as he woke up. No vestiges of sleep or dreams clung to him when he woke. His eyes opened and he was instantly awake. Dark blue eyes met light blue eyes and held. "Good morning, husband," she whispered resting a hand against the muscled expanse of his chest.

"Good morning, wife," he replied, his arms tightening around her.

In the cocoon of his arms she felt cherished, a word she would never have associated with Loghain. Yet there is was. And in his arms, with his breath stirring her hair, his fingers idly tracing circles on her skin, she felt as if they were on an island, just the two of them. She smiled against his skin, her dream still weaving its magic on her. If only she could give him those things; a farm, a family, a life away from pain and death and duty.

"Hey you two! Let's get a move on, shall we?" Anders sang out, rattling a spoon against the cooking pot.

Leonie grinned, edging a foot along Loghain's well toned calf. "How is it he has the nerve to order the mighty Loghain Mac Tir about?" she teased.

"A question I will be sure he answers," Loghain muttered darkly as he reluctantly prepared to rise.

Leonie made a low sound of protest as his warmth retreated, leaving the cold morning air to rush against her skin. "Cruel man," she accused, sitting up.

They were on their way within the hour. Home was waiting and if Anders had found the courage to order Loghain to get a move on it was no doubt his desire to see Aura that drove him to so imprudent an act. Leonie couldn't fault him for that. Loghain, glowering from beneath lowered black brows, obviously could and did.

The long cold winter was slowly giving way to the relentless pursuit of spring. The air smelled sweeter, the sun was a bit brighter as they continued riding northeast. The Vigil was only days away and Leonie felt herself longing for the company of those waiting for their return.

* * *

Nila woke with an almost overwhelming need to see her daughter. She hadn't had a dream or premonition that something was wrong; there was just an urgent ache in the pit of her stomach. She dressed and hurried to find Roan, knowing he might refuse to travel to Vigil's Keep with her but even if he did she wouldn't be dissuaded. She loved her husband but he was, at times, blinded by prejudice and grief. She didn't fault him for it but as a woman more practical than romantic, she knew the value of letting go of such poisons.

Roan was outside, preparing the ox cart for their trip to the market in Hartsfield, the small village nearby. He looked at her and caught the urgency and anxiety in her immediately. Concern edged his words, "What is it Nila?"

"I need to go and see Leonie. Call it a mother's intuition if you must define it, but I need to leave for Vigil's Keep. She needs me," Nila responded quietly but with the steely resolve that rarely surfaced. The same steel was in Leonie's spine, honed and hardened by the years of fighting darkspawn, polished by a strength of purpose that was Balfour's legacy to his daughter.

"Today?" Roan asked quietly, as if he knew Nila's state of mind and didn't question it.

"Yes. I know you don't want to go to Vigil's Keep, you've no wish to see Loghain, but Leonie is a good judge of character. You don't know her enough to trust her judgment, Roan, but I ask that you trust mine."

"Pack while I take this to the market. I'll let Daniel know," Roan said, surprising Nila with his quick acceptance of the situation.

They left Hunter Fell in the early afternoon, leaving their young overseer in charge of their small estate.

* * *

The third day of their journey passed uneventfully and night came quickly. Leonie, settled in front of their campfire, glanced at Loghain with a worried frown. The closer it got to bedtime the more distant he became, as if he resented the approach of it. She touched his arm lightly and he stared at her hand as if it was a snake preparing to strike.

"What is it, Loghain?" she demanded in hushed tones, unwilling to share her worry with the others who were gathered around the fire.

"Nothing," he said coolly, refusing to meet her eyes and refusing to acknowledge her touch.

"Yes, I can see that," she replied with a hint of iron in her voice. She stood up and offered her hand to help him stand. "But perhaps a walk before we turn in, yes?"

He grudgingly accepted her hand and stood up. She had the feeling that he only accepted it with great reluctance. He was certainly not happy about her request.

"Travis, first watch, Anders second watch. Phillipe third," he ordered before striding into the dark. Leonie had to scurry to catch up to him.

"Maker, Loghain, what is the matter with you?" Leonie asked breathlessly as she finally came abreast of him.

"I believe I have already told you there is nothing the matter with me," he replied curtly.

"Yes you told me that and I say only that you are a very poor liar, Loghain Mac Tir. Do you think that trust is so one sided? I must trust all my thoughts and feelings to you but you do not have to reciprocate? What an odd notion of marriage you have," she replied, deliberately provoking.

Loghain made a low noise, a warning that his temper was rising, but Leonie disregarded it, continuing to press her point. "I cannot think that holding your thoughts inside has made your life happier."

At those words Loghain laughed, a bitter and harsh sound that reflected his growing anger. "You know very little about my life," he rebuked coldly.

"I know that when you behave like a bear with a thorn in his paw you are either afraid of something or hurt by something. Perhaps if you tell me which it is I can be more understanding. Perhaps if you share more about your life, your dreams and hopes, the same will be true. Hardly an unreasonable request from a wife, yes?"

Loghain stopped mid stride, swinging to peer at her in the dark. "Don't provoke me, Leonie," he warned tightly.

Shaking her head in exasperation, she plowed on determinedly , "Do not provoke you because you do not wish to voice whatever it is that has robbed you of your appetite and causes dread in you at the thought of taking me to bed? Why ever would I do such a thing?" she mocked deliberately.

He stepped closer, his face a ghostly apparition in the gloom, but even in the dark she saw the fierce expression in his eyes. He wanted to grab her, she could tell by the way his hands reached out and then fell, curled into tight fists. Without hesitation, she reached out and grasped his fists in her hands, stepping closer to him.

"I am your wife, Loghain. For better or worse, I am Leonie _Mac Tir_ and as deserving of your trust as you are of mine. You cannot lecture me one day on not trusting you and then lock me out the next, refusing to share these things that frighten you," she continued, implacable.

"Stubborn woman! Leave it!" he finally shouted, forcibly pulling his hands from hers. He turned away from her. "Do you think this is easy for me? Watching you slip away from me a little more each day? Listening to your screams at night and unable to do anything? Damn you, can't you just leave it?" he growled furiously.

Leonie was stunned by the anger in his voice, heartsick by the anguish in him that fed it, knowing she was somehow the cause of it. "No, I do not imagine it is easy for you, Loghain," she replied regretfully. "I do not wish you to feel such pain because of this. I wish only for us to share our lives, to share our dreams and hopes, to share the pain we each feel, to find the answers before they destroy us both."

She reached out, resting her hand on his broad back, felt his muscles ripple and tense at the touch. "You say I am screaming at night and yet I do not remember doing such. What I remember is a dream of a farmhouse, of you at the head of the table, sharing a meal with our son Gareth and our daughter Beryl and having this tremendous sense of peace fill me, this feeling that somehow the darkness will never really separate us," Leonie whispered against his rigid back, her arms slipping around his waist.

Loghain shook his head. "That isn't possible," he said gruffly. "That isn't the reality we face."

"Perhaps you are right. Perhaps it is only a dream, wishful thinking, but when I am afraid, when I can feel the hopelessness crowding into my thoughts and taking away my peace, I believe it is more than a dream," she replied in tear laden tones. They did not fall, nor would she let them.

"Oh, and what is it if not a dream?" he asked caustically. "The foolish desire for things we cant' have?"

"I believe it is hope," she answered candidly. "And if all I have is this one spark of hope, I am willing to latch onto it. From one spark can come a great fire, yes?"

Silence stretched into the darkness. Leonie was content to let Loghain speak before she continued. He shuddered, bowing his head. "You aren't the only one who dreams of Gareth and Beryl," he admitted quietly.

"We are sharing the same dream?" she fianlly managed, shocked.

"That was the Fade dream I refused to share with you. For the past two nights I've whispered it to you, trying to stop the nightmares and both nights I've fallen asleep to that very dream."

They both heard the sound of Travis clucking softly and turned to look for him only to discover he wasn't there. Loghain gave a surprised grunt but Leonie's smile whispered along her lips as she stared up at her husband.

"You see, my love, it is not just a dream. It is hope," Leonie sighed, bringing her lips to his.


	45. Chapter 45

**Each Bright River**

Sigrun wandered into the dining hall and plunked down in a chair, her usually cheerful countenance set into lines of worry. There had to be something more they could do for Lion besides let the Undead and the Weisshaupt Witch argue about who was in charge and what they should focus on. Nathaniel came to sit with her, his face drawn into a tight smile.

"Sigrun," he greeted before plowing through his plate of eggs and ham.

"Nathaniel," she intoned in the same studied detachment, mocking him with a friendly lift of brows.

Nathaniel's smile came and went so quickly that anyone else would have missed it. He poured another mug of cider and then sat staring at the wall in front of him, a frown pulling at his face.

"You know, the dwarves have a saying about people who stare at a wall hoping it will provide an answer," Sigrun remarked, her smile reasserting itself. Nothing like someone else's worry to minimize your own, she thought wryly.

"Oh, and what is that?" Nathaniel asked warily.

"They're either crazy or drunk and since you never get drunk I'm guessing you've finally gone crazy."

Nathaniel's laugh was as brief as his smile had been. "You're telling me I won't find the answers?" he asked in feigned disbelief.

"Well, people who write on walls generally have more time on their hands than actual answers. You can bounce things off me, if you want. You know, get things off your chest?" Sigrun offered cheerfully.

"Fergus Cousland," Nathaniel said softly, as if that was all the information she needed.

The name rang a distant bell. "Oh?" she asked noncommittally and then as memory shifted and filtered down she said, "Oh." The only surviving Cousland, thanks to Papa Howe, probably with a need for vengeance and a stick up his ass.

"He'll be here within the week to talk some sense into Leonie as she obviously lacks any. No Howe is deserving of rank, title or respect," Nathaniel said and by his flat, uninflected voice Sigrun understood he was quoting from a letter.

"Ah. That'll be interesting, won't it? Leonie has more sense than any dozen nobles I've ever met. Erm, not that I've actually met a dozen nobles. Don't worry, she'll set him straight and send him packing. Probably wishing he'd stayed home," Sigrun reassured, shooting him a wide grin. "And if he gives you trouble, he'll have it returned tenfold. Twelvefold if Enoch and Ewan go through their Joining before he arrives," she added.

Nathaniel grunted. "Yes and the retinue of soldiers he brings will stand around and watch that, no doubt," he retorted but with a slight smile.

"We used to be good friends. We'd go hunting together, get into mischief and try to escape Del and Elissa as often as possible when they'd visit us or we'd go to Castle Cousland. We grew up together until I was sent to the Free Marches.

"The thing is that I don't blame him for hating me or Del. I can't say I would feel any differently. I _didn't_ feel any differently when I came here determined to kill Lion and avenge my father's death," he finished, his smile changing into a bitter reflection of one.

"Yes, and see how that worked out? He'll probably rant and rave but really, Nathaniel, he'll recognize you're not your father and neither is Bann Delilah. You'll see."

"Sure, and the griffons will suddenly reappear," he snorted, pushing his empty plate away.

"Ooh, I hope they're more comfortable to ride than horses," Sigrun said, chuckling at the thought of a dwarf riding on a snowy white griffon.

Nathaniel stood and turned to leave but said, "Thanks, Sigrun, I appreciate it," before walking out of the dining hall.

Obviously, Sigrun thought somewhat sourly, most nobles didn't have a clue how to behave nobly. They could learn a lot from the remaining Howes. She stood and found her way out to the training yard to watch Ewan and Enoch beat on each other. There was something almost comical about watching identical twins sparring. They often wound up throwing their weapons aside and wrestling on the ground until one or the other was bloody and gave up the match. It was better than any Proving she had ever snuck in to watch.

* * *

Anora Mac Tir Theirin pushed her paperwork aside and stared at Teagan Guerrin, her expression aloof. "Do you really think Eamon has that much sway?" she asked with a delicate flare of nostrils. Eamon made her head ache with his manipulations and uncanny ability to rally others to his cause.

"I wouldn't be here if I thought differently," Teagan replied, steepling his fingers. "Bryland, half the Bannorn, probably more. They believe a Theirin is the only rightful heir to the throne."

"Why? Why warn me that Eamon is stirring up the nobles?" Anora demanded, her blue eyes as cool and penetrating as her father's.

"Because I think Alistair deserves more, as do you, your Majesty. Eamon is blood, he's family and I love him. But Ferelden doesn't need more civil strife and that's what would happen. Unless you married Alistair," he added with a mischievous smile.

Anora's laugh was mirthless and brief. "I've had one Theirin husband, I've no intention of another."

She watched Teagan's face, looking for signs of subterfuge but saw only the open, charming face of a friend. Still, she had not remained in power by blindly acting on every bit of information thrown her way. People rarely acted selflessly in her experience.

"I'm leaving for Amaranthine tomorrow morning. I want to talk to Alistair and warn him about Eamon. Even after Commander Leonie warned him that Alistair was a Warden, that he had no desire to see him, Eamon is still determined to meet with the lad," Teagan said, gathering his gloves as he prepared to take his leave.

"Tomorrow?" Anora asked, trying to buy time as she thought through the ramifications of paying a visit to Vigil's Keep as well. The thought of seeing her father, of reassuring herself that Alistair was not, in fact, a threat, brought a rare smile to her face.

"I suppose I could postpone it for a day or two," Teagan replied with an answering smile. "Especially if it means a lovely woman will be accompanying me."

Anora laughed softly, a genuine laugh of amusement. "Teagan, such flattery has never worked with me; I don't know why you persist."

"Practice, your Majesty," he replied and he bowed low before taking his leave.

She watched his departure and then turned to Erlina, who had sat quietly watching the meeting. "Find Edwin for me, tell him to arrange for a small contingent only and then send him here."

"Yes, your Majesty. Will I be traveling with you?"

Anora frowned slightly. "No, I want you to stay and make sure my orders are carried out, Erlina. You will be my eyes and ears here, should Eamon try anything while he's at his Denerim estate. You're to send messengers should anything happen," she told her bard and friend, one of a very few people she completely trusted.

"Yes Queen Anora. I will do as you ask."

Anora spent several hours with her Chancellor before finally going to her private quarters to prepare for her journey north to Amaranthine. There was a small flutter of anticipation at seeing her father again, of seeing how the relationship with Leonie was going. Given his penchant for sabotaging his happiness, she could only hope that wasn't the case. He deserved some happiness in his life.

Teagan's visit had served to remind her of her duty to Ferelden; remarry and produce an heir. A delicate shiver went through her at the thought of a political marriage but she knew the necessity of it, would do what she needed to do to preserve Ferelden's independence and _her_ reign. There were times, she admitted to herself with surprising candor, that she was lonely. For all his faults Cailan had been fun to be around and had a way of bringing her out of herself.

She glanced away from her mirror. Time was slipping away from her, and unlike Celene, who could afford to remain single because of a wealth of cousins to name as her successor, Anora had no such luxury. The thought of Ferelden falling into the hands of someone like Eamon or Ceorlic made her stomach clench. The thought of marrying that type of man made her stomach roil.

Sweeping her hair away from her face, she examined her reflection. Fine lines were forming around her eyes and mouth. Frown lines were beginning to show even when she wasn't frowning. She laughed lightly, moving away. She had never been a vain woman, she would not start now. But as she climbed into her large and empty bed, she wondered, just briefly, if she hadn't spent a large portion of her life sabotaging her own happiness as well; duty had always come first. Her father's comment about apples and trees came to her and she was smiling as sleep overtook her thoughts.

* * *

Their last night on the road, Leonie had Loghain pitch their tent away from the others and after their dinner, she slipped quietly away, down to the Hafter River. As the sun began to slide petulantly from the sky, the river turned a gaudy gold.

"Each bright river leads me merrily, to my home, to my heart, to the endless sea."

"That sounded rather wistful. We'll be home tomorrow," Loghain said, coming to crouch beside her.

She turned to him, her smile as bright as the river struck by sunset's golden hues. "An old Orlesian saying and I am wishful, not wistful. I wish for a hot bath and our bed, for our family gathered around the table."

Loghain reached out and let his fingers trace her smile, her lips pursing to kiss his wandering fingers. She was beautiful with her flushed cheeks and her brilliant smile. Yet he could never seem to bring himself to tell her that.

"I never tell you, do I?" he asked and felt her smile broaden. The minute he said he, he wanted to recall the words, afraid she would demand he do so and he wasn't sure he could.

"Do I complain?" she queried instead and his breath, held without realizing it, expelled softly.

"About a great deal, but not that," he admitted with a dry smile.

She pushed at him until he lost his balance and sat rather abruptly on the hard ground beside her. She was laughing, a sparkling sound that brought a smile to his lips. He loved her. She was brave and beautiful, wistful and wise. Aggravating and argumentative in a way that challenged him. Yet he never told her why he loved her and there were times when he couldn't define it even to himself, he simply knew it existed. And there were other times he almost wished he didn't, wished his own happiness wasn't so invested in her, afraid of loving her too much and being left alone.

Here, now, beside the bright river leading them home, he knew that it was everything, from her stubborn willfulness to her wise counsel, from her graceful beauty to her childlike wonder that drew him irrevocably to her each moment of each day. He loved to hear her giggling when his hair brushed against the ticklish place at the curve of her hip. He loved the way her eyebrows winged upward when she was surprised. He loved the way her hand gentled his anger.

He loved her and could not understand how she could love him but he didn't doubt her love. It was in her every glance and touch. In the way she smiled serenely at him each morning when she woke beside him, in the way her voice deepened when she spoke of her desire for him. In the way she guided him tenderly to a happier place when his melancholy threatened. In the way she argued passionately with him, unafraid and unashamed. Maker help him, he needed her.

"Come to bed with me, Leonie Caron Mac Tir," he invited, standing. He reached out his hand and helped her to her feet. With a last look at the river, dulled now that the sun was gone, she nodded and put her arm around his waist.

The others were gathered around the fire, Anders regaling them with a story about his adventures during one of his escapes from the tower. With a brief good night, Leonie and Loghain entered their tent. Loghain heard a bark of laughter and could imagine the lewd jokes Anders was now telling at their expense. Leonie blushed lightly, a kiss of pink in her cheeks as she began to unbuckle her armor.

"You are beautiful. Curse my stubbornness for not saying so sooner," he said gruffly, pulling her, armor and all, into his arms.

"I do not think it is stubbornness, Loghain. I think you are wary of saying such things," Leonie replied. "You fear that it shows a weakness in you that others will take advantage of."

His growl was soft against her skin and he felt her shiver. "Do I strike you as someone who fears things?" he asked, his fingers helping to divest her of her armor. She had already stripped his armor away, he realized with startling clarity; his soul was bare before her.

"When it comes to human emotion you are the biggest coward in Thedas," she replied tenderly.

He huffed at that but they both knew she was right. "No need to gloat," he chided with a twitch of a smile.

She turned to him as the last of her armor came away, her expression earnest. "You are my bright river, you know this, yes?"

He was deeply touched, unable to speak for a moment. "And you are my home," he replied sincerely, capturing her lips.

Precious moments were wasted as they removed his armor, their fingers clumsy with their sudden need. She was laughing as her fingers got caught in the leather straps of his greaves. He pulled her into his arms as the last piece fell away and they tumbled back onto their bedroll. Her eyes, even in the dark, seemed to shine and he realized they were bright with tears but she blinked rapidly and they were gone. He kissed each eye lid and tasted the faint saltiness left on her lashes and then made his way to her mouth.

"Beautiful and mine," he said possessively as his mouth skimmed across the soft skin of her neck.

"Yours," she agreed, her hands sweeping us his back to tangle in his hair.

* * *

Another bright day, a reminder that spring's approach was drawing closer, greeted them the next morning. They broke camp quickly and were on their way while the dew was still on the grass. Leonie was impatient to be home, to see the Wardens but no more so than Anders, who was in the lead and pushing his mount. When they stopped for lunch, he whined to be on the road again until she finally tossed the rest of her flatbread to the birds.

Travis, standing by his horse, looked up at the cloudless blue sky and let out a long, sweet whistle. A hawk, gracefully winging across the expanse of blue tipped a wing and began to glide in slow circles around them.

"Is that Nemishia?" Leonie asked, coming to stand beside him, shading her eyes to see the bird. A beautiful bird, gold and brown with white tipped feathers.

Travis shrugged with a soft cluck but didn't answer her. She raised her hand to the hawk and the hawk tipped its wing again. "Please give her my best and tell her she is most welcome at the Vigil," Leonie said with a smile. Knowing Nemishia was with them gave her a sense of comfort and well being.

Two hours later the Vigil came into sight. The familiar road that wound along the banks of a creek up to the gates of the Keep brought relief flooding into Leonie. Anders let out a whoop of joy. Leonie knew how he felt, her own joy spilling out of her in a laugh. She glanced over at Loghain who shot her a smug smile and nod. The race was on.

Leonie dug her heels into Bendis's flanks and leaned low, along her horse's neck, loosening her hold on the reins, leaping ahead of Loghain as Bendis opened up her gait and surged forward. She could hear Phillipe and Anders yelling encouragement as she focused on controlling the horse with her knees and thighs. She glanced over her shoulder to see that Loghain was already making up the distance and she called to Bendis to put her heart into it.

Her hair came loose, whipping around her as she pushed on. She could hear the hard pounding of hooves striking earth as Loghain and Taranis continued to gain ground. He was nearly abreast of her but the gates loomed large, open and inviting, and home was within another few strides. She pulled Bendis up, straightening in her saddle as she crossed into the courtyard first. She was panting, her hair wild and her laughter joyous as her Wardens flowed out to greet them.

Sigrun was there first, giving Leonie a ferocious hug. "Don't you ever leave me behind again," Sigrun admonished. "Dead _women _walking. Hard to do if you're not here," she added with a brilliant smile.

Leonie nodded, happy tears promising to spill. Maker, she had missed them all, even bitter Karlin. Who was smiling? Maker, how was that possible? Leonie hugged them all, or all that she knew would accept such a thing and to the others she offered a smile and a heartfelt greeting. And was she seeing double or were there two men of identical look and build, standing shyly back from the others? She blinked, relieved that it was not her vision that was the issue.

"It's good to have you back, Leonie," Varel said and Leonie threw her arms around the man.

"You called me Leonie!" she crowed, kissing his cheek.

"I'm sure you're mistaken, Lady Leonie," he argued with a twitch of lips. "Welcome home."

News broke very quickly that Leonie and Loghain were married. She suspected Anders was the loud mouthed culprit since Aura was the first to offer felicitations. The only one who seemed quiet and a bit withdrawn was Nathaniel. When she could, she made her way to him and tucked her arm in his; walking up the stairs and into the Vigil.

"You are distressed, Nathaniel. What is it?" she asked softly.

"Fergus Cousland is on his way here. Should be here any time," he explained grimly.

"Do not fret, Nathaniel. We shall have Aura prepare rooms for him and Teyrn Fergus will come to know what a good thing this has been, yes? Queen Anora gave us the power to rule the arling as we deemed best," Leonie reassured.

The noise was almost deafening as everyone caught up and it took a few minutes for Leonie to realize neither Fiona nor Avernus, whom she had yet to meet, were in the great hall.

"We need to have a celebration for Leonie and Loghain!" Anders yelled and the others broke into raucous cheers.

Leonie looked across at Loghain who was scowling at all the commotion. She excused herself and moved in his direction but the press of the group around them swept her away, a strong current pulling at her. He jostled his way to her side.

"Each bright river," Leonie reminded Loghain, smiling up at him.

"River? More like a bloody tidal wave," he growled but his answering smile told her he too was happy to be home.


	46. Chapter 46

**A/N: Thanks Lisakodysam, aka, Eagle Eyes!**

**Convergence**

Leonie yawned, resting her head on Loghain's shoulder as they sat at the table surrounded by the good wishes and good intentions of their Wardens. The hour was late and the idea of bathing and falling face first into a soft bed was very appealing. In fact, as late as the hour was, she was more than willing to skip the bath and head straight to bed.

"So, you're not actually married," Karlin asked in a voice designed to be heard over the din. The noise died down as everyone waited for a response.

Loghain bristled, upsetting Leonie's comfortable position. "We most certainly are," he replied coldly, his face set in marble. "And you'd do well to watch your tone when talking to your commander."

Sitting up, Leonie put a hand on his thigh and squeezed gently. The room was holding its breath, nervously anticipating a scene. Leonie was not about to give them one. This was their homecoming. She wouldn't let it be ruined by anyone.

"We _are_ married, Karlin. An old and well known treaty signed by the Chasind and King Calenhad gave the Chasind the same rights and privileges as the Chantry. That was reaffirmed by King Maric after the Chasind helped expel the Orlesians," Leonie explained in a quiet and authoritative voice.

Karlin raised a brow but fell silent. Any hope that Leonie had harbored regarding Karlin's disposition toward Loghain fell silent as well.

She heard a very quiet snicker from Loghain. True or not, Karlin had no way of knowing and it had effectively silenced her. Rather than snickering, Loghain really ought to be thanking her, Leonie thought. Feeling sure she would hear more about the subject when they retired for the night, Leonie turned her attention to the Dryden twins.

Another yawn punctuated her question about their Joining, followed by yet another. Finally, Loghain stood and without raising a hand or his voice, a hush fell across the room once more. All eyes fell were on him.

"Thank you for your well wishes. It's been a long journey and unless the Vigil is burning, we are not to be disturbed until morning," he announced in ringing tones.

Leonie groaned as the cheers and footstomping started up again. Her cheeks were scarlet at the amount of innuendo in the good nights everyone bade them as they departed the dining hall.

"Very nicely done, Loghain. I am sure no one will tease us about our hasty retreat," she remarked dryly as they started up the stairs. She stopped to yawn again and before she could take another step, Loghain swept her up in his arms and carried her to their rooms. She sighed wearily and leaned her head against his chest.

"You are a remarkably adept liar," Loghain commented a few minutes later as they began undressing and preparing for bed.

"Do you, in fact, know without a shadow of a doubt, that such a treaty does not exist?" she asked, sinking onto their bed with a sigh of relief.

Loghain pulled her close until her back rested against the warmth of his chest and then he wrapped a leg around her, burying his face in the crook of her neck. She felt him relax into her and she realized how little sleep he had gotten on their way home.

"Tomorrow," he mumbled and, with a sigh, fell asleep. Leonie was only a yawn behind him.

* * *

_They were so angry. So bitter. So lost. She stood among them, tried to speak to them, to offer them comfort. The song was all around her, pulling at her sanity and above it, their voices; inconsolable, angry. They wanted revenge against their makers, their betrayers. Her blood began to heat up in her veins, she felt as though she was burning from the inside out. _

"_Ultionis!" _

_The cry echoed off the walls of the cavern, wrapping around the song, changing the pitch and beauty, staining it black. She tried to make them see that no good would come from revenge. It would only feed their hate, fuel their bloodlust. Her blood continued to scorch her body internally until she brought out her dagger. There seemed only one way to stop the pain. She dragged the dagger along her wrist, pressing deeply into her skin. It should hurt but it didn't. Was she already dead? They watched her and she could feel their pity. She looked at the blood flowing from her, dripping down to form a pool around her. Black blood. Bitter blood. Her blood. Their blood. _

_Her mouth opened in horror, the scream resting in her throat, ready for release but it fell silent as she began to weep for the darkspawn._

_Sunlight filtered brightly through the lacy canopy of leaves above her and the laughter of children filled her ears, touched her heart. She looked up from her easel and watched as Gareth and Beryl played. Loghain opened his arms to them and they fell on him, laughing and shouting. She stood up, contentment welling in her, and walked to her family, smiling broadly._

__

_

* * *

_

Leonie was still sleeping, her face looking unexpectedly young and vulnerable in the early morning light. Loghain was reluctant to leave her but there were duties he had put off long enough. Brushing a stray curl from her cheek, he bent and kissed her softly. She made a low, contented sound without ever waking.

His first stop was the laboratory. Books and vellums littered the tables. He picked one up and after perusing it for a moment he tossed it aside in disgust. There was nothing on the vellum but a series of scratchings that made no sense. Jarren was sleeping on a cot in the corner of the room.

"Wake up, mage!" Loghain commanded in a steely voice, the voice that had commanded the armies of Ferelden. Jarren startled and then came flying off the cot.

"Commander," he squeaked.

"You have ten minutes to get your fellow researchers and meet me in my office."

Jarren, pushing his wild tawny mane out of his face squinted at Loghain. Loghain raised a brow. "Is there a problem?" he asked coldly.

"Uh, no Commander Loghain. It's just that I'm not sure where their rooms are," the young mage explained nervously.

"You now have eight minutes and I suggest you ask one of the maids. Now!" he thundered.

Maker damn them, had they done nothing in their absence? He stormed down the stairs and found his way to the dining hall. Alistair and Sigrun were there, talking softly and they both looked up at his approach.

"Morning, Commander," Sigrun chirped brightly.

"Sigrun, Alistair," he grunted, pouring himself a cup of bitter, black coffee. He preferred tea but the coffee seemed a perfect accompaniment to his present mood.

"Leonie," Sigrun began and then hesitated.

"Looks terrible," Alistair finished and two sets of eyes rested on Loghain.

"I'll be sure to let her know that," he bit out sarcastically and then rubbed a hand across his forehead. It was hardly their fault she was wasting away. "The trip was hard on her," he finally admitted and said nothing more.

Setting his mug of coffee aside, he concentrated on eating, but the food tasted as bitter as the coffee.

* * *

Fergus Cousland adjusted the patch that covered his right eye, a habit that had formed in the first weeks of his recovery. The Chasind tribe who had eventually found him had tried to restore his sight; he gave them credit for their efforts. But the damage, left untended for days, was too great to heal.

He was lucky, he knew that, but on most days he didn't feel particularly lucky. The weight of his guilt at his own survival when so much had been taken from him, the weight of responsibility in rebuilding what was left, made him unable to appreciate the fortune that the Maker had turned his way.

"Your Grace, should we send a messenger ahead?" Barr, his captain, asked as they rode abreast along the dusty road to Vigil's Keep.

"You think they won't see our approach. They are well aware of our arrival," Fergus replied, remembering previous visits to the Vigil. Set atop a small rise with watch towers rising above the sprawling grounds of the keep he knew from time spent in the towers as a boy that the guards would be watching the road vigilantly.

It seemed to him that the Grey Wardens had gathered the worst of Ferelden to its ranks. Howe, Loghain and Maker knew what other traitors hid in their midst. An Orlesian overseeing them all was an affront to those who had fought against them. He smiled grimly. The Hero of River Dane was now a Grey Warden under the command of an Orlesian. It seemed a far better punishment than he could ever devise.

He wasn't sure what Queen Anora had been thinking to annex his lands into the hands of the Grey Wardens. His father had regaled them with tales of the Warden's exploits in the distant past. Fergus had respected their heroic deeds as a boy and he, Rory and Elissa had spent hours playing Grey Wardens and darkspawn as children. But to give them a seat in the Landsmeet, to give them the ability to decide high justice in lands that should, by rights, be his made Fergus more than a little angry with her.

Of course she would do anything to ease the way for her father; her devotion to Loghain was legendary. He adjusted his patch again, stretched his neck and shoulders as they continued their slow pace up the road. The Vigil loomed ever larger. So many days spent hunting and carousing with Nate. So many times when they slept under the stars and wondered what their futures held, oaths made to always remain friends. So many broken and lost dreams.

Growing up as the eldest of the Cousland children had not been easy for Fergus. He was the dreamer, the wild one with a sense of the ridiculous and a penchant for getting into trouble. Elissa had been the quiet one, the one who ghosted her father's every footstep, who knew every freeholder in the teyrnir, who was sweet and wise and steady. Fergus had pleaded with his father to name Elissa the heir. He was much more suited to a bachelor's life in the army.

Oriana had changed all that. An arranged marriage worked out among fathers. Bryce and the head of the Antivan trade guilds had both done well by the arrangement. Fergus had settled down as best he could, tried to learn the things he should already know and gradually put away his dreams. Oren's birth seemed a reward for his efforts, for the sacrifices of becoming what he didn't want to become. Oren was a joy, a reminder of his own youth and Fergus doted on the young boy.

It was thoughts of Oren that fueled his need to seek retribution.

* * *

"What have you been doing for the past three weeks?" Loghain demanded with cold fury.

"Determining what we can do to stop her Calling," Fiona replied with equal ice.

"Yet you have found nothing and I see nothing in the laboratory that would indicate you've done anything at all," he said, voice clipped.

"The impatience of youth," the old man remarked acidly. Loghain's eyes narrowed, his tone was menacing.

"The impatience of a man watching his wife dying while the people who should be helping her are busy quibbling over methodology and leadership. She doesn't have time for that and I assure you both that neither do you. Find something to help her and do so quickly because if she dies, so too will you," Loghain assured them, pushing himself out of his chair to loom over the mages.

"You think I'm afraid of your threats?" Avernus asked, chuckling in contempt. "I haven't lived this long because I fear little despots like you," he continued.

Matching the old mage's contempt with a heavy dose of his own, Loghain spoke. "Don't imagine for a moment that I will need to kill you. There are plenty of others willing to do so should you both fail. I suggest you keep that in mind."

Fiona spoke up, her voice strained. "We are doing what we can, Loghain. But who are we to experiment on? How do we know we've found the key to slowing down her taint again? Are _you_ willing to volunteer?"

Loghain's answer was short and honest. "Yes."

"You most certainly will not," Leonie said, entering the room. Loghain's head jerked up and he looked at her as she came towards them. Hollow eyed and pale, grim and determined, she stopped beside Fiona. She had dressed in a dark red wool dress, her hair pulled into a chignon. She gave him a brief smile before speaking again.

"You do not need to experiment on any of us and to do so in inhumane. We cannot become that which we fight against. Have we not had this conversation before?"

"Then how, Lion? How do we know?" Fiona prompted and there was genuine curiosity in her voice.

"How have you been working on the problem since I left Weisshaupt, Fiona? Have you been experimenting on others again?" Leonie asked and her voice was dangerously low and controlled.

Fiona's eyed dropped to her hands that were resting in her lap and she remained silent.

"I asked a question. Answer it."

He was infinitely proud of Leonie as she stood there, calm and self assured, soft spoken but with more steel than silk in her voice. He saw in her the commander she had been when he first met her. Powerful and resolute. Imposing.

"Only with those already well into their Calling."

Leonie leaned down, her voice a whisper of lethal velvet. "Your semantics do not hide the fact that you are a monster in many ways worse than the darkspawn."

Fiona paled, jaws twitching. She sat examining her hands before finally looking up at Leonie. Another moment of silence passed before she finally spoke in a cool, reproving manner.

"Your blood has power that none of us understand. There are those at Weisshaupt, a small cadre, that don't want answers, that actively seek to stop the research. Others want those secrets unlocked because they believe it will eradicate the darkspawn forever. But most simply don't care. They have a job that they believe in. They have a duty that they believe is greater than any one person or group of people. Trust me, I am not the monster, Lion. No matter how much you'd like to paint me as one."

Leonie snorted in disbelief and disgust. "Always you have pretty little answers, Fiona. Except to the most important questions of all. I do not care that I am dying from this. I care that there is much more to my blood than you have told me. I talk to the darkspawn now, I communicate with them and understand them. I feel their betrayal. I feel their sorrow."

The old mage's face became animated at that. "Betrayal? Sorrow? Why do they feel betrayed?" Avernus asked, fascinated.

Leonie ignored him, keeping her gaze fixed on Fiona. "Tell me, Fiona, you have read the First Warden archives, yes? How was the first Joining discovered? How did the darkspawn learn that the only way they could procreate was to kidnap women and turn them into Broodmothers? Who or what created the darkspawn in such masses? From a handful of magisters to the hundreds of thousands, the millions, needed to wage war as they do?"

Avernus turned his look of utter fascination in Fiona's direction. Loghain felt a strong dislike for the mages, an anger that went deep. Their all encompassing need to do whatever was necessary no matter the cost. He had lived that way most of his life but now he found he could not. He would not.

"Interesting questions I have tried to answer myself. The taint is unknown to the demons in the Fade," Avernus said in a condescening voice that made Loghai's jaw ache.

Leonie looked at him only reluctantly. "Yet you have found no real answers either after two hundred years and countless Grey Warden deaths, other than to acknowledge how powerful my blood is when used by a blood mage. A thing, I might add, that will not ever happen."

The tension in the room was thick and filled with acrimony and accustations. Leonie came to stand beside Loghain, her chin tilted with cool indifference towards the mages. "Was there anything else you wished to discuss with them, Commander Loghain?" she asked respectfully.

Loghain looked at her and then glanced at the two mages. "Remember this discussion. I won't revisit it."

After they left, Leonie leaned weakly against him, her breath coming out in a long sigh. "I am sorry, Loghain. I did not wish to countermand your authority. Please," she began, her eyes brimming, "please do not allow those ghouls to experiment on you," she finished, tears sliding down her cheeks.

Loghain ran the pads of his thumbs along her cheekbones, catching her tears. "We need to find answer quickly, Leonie. If that means using me to facilitate the answers, I am more than willing," he replied honestly. He would do that for her, do anything he could to save her from her rapidly approaching fate.

"I do not want to be left alone, Loghain. Please promise me that you will not do something so noble and foolish."

Loghain's laugh was bitter. Noble and foolish. He'd been called that by Rowan once and by Maric more than once. His eyes sought Leonie's, his thumbs still resting lightly on her damp cheeks. Maybe it was time he stopped making the noble, foolish hgestures, the sacrifices that had defined his commitment to duty. Maybe with her help, he could set down the burden of duty once and for all. But if she died, he wasn't sure how he would go on either. Not one more loss, the thought bitterly. Not. One. More. He bent and kissed her tears away.

A knock on his door and Leonie and Loghain broke apart, she no more reluctantly than he. "Enter!"

The captain of the guard came in, saluting smartly. "Travelers on the road, Commander Loghain. They are flying the Highever banners. Twenty five men. Teyrn Fergus appears to be leading them. They should arrive within the next thirty minutes, Ser."

"Thank you. Have an honor guard prepare for their arrival. Tell Varel to see to their accommodations," Loghain ordered. "The soldiers can stay in the barracks."

"Are you ready for this?" he asked Leonie, studying her carefully.

"I am. Are you?" she asked, straightening one of his braids.

"When am I not ready for a confrontation?" he asked dryly.

Leonie paused, tapping her chin thoughtfully. "A question which has no good answer," she replied with a smile that lit her eyes. "Or at least not one I can give in polite company," she added.

Loghain smirked but before he could respond, the captain of the guard returned. "Yes, Simmons, what is it now?"

"More travelers on the road, Commander Loghain. A man and a woman on horseback. They are ten minutes behind Teyrn Fergus but traveling faster."

Leonie frowned, glancing at Loghain. "Were you expecting more guests?" she asked.

"No, nor do I want more guests," he growled, feeling sorely put upon. He turned to the young captain. "Keep an eye on them, show them every courtesy and report to me immediately if you recognize them."

The captain saluted and left.

"What next?" Leonie asked with a grin.

"I don't even want to speculate," Loghain responded.

Another knock on the door and at Loghain's impatient command, the door opened and Travis came into the room, smiling. "Queen Anora is on her way. Nemishia sighted her on the road. She should be here within the hour. She travels with someone else. From Nemishia's description it sounds like Teagan Guerrin."

Leonie laughed. "A most interesting confluence of people, yes? We only have need of Eamon to make this one of my worst nightmares."

Loghain thought, given the state of her current nightmares, that was saying quite a bit. Not that he disagreed. "Thank you Travis. Ask her to scout the road south of the queen's approach. If Eamon heard that Anora and Teagan were traveling to Vigil's Keep, he's sure to be less than a day behind them."

Travis nodded, clucking a bit as he retreated. Loghain felt a headache coming on. Who, he wondered, was the second group approaching the keep, the man and woman riding without an escort?

Leonie had fallen silent, deep in thought. When she spoke it was in those same commanding tones that she had used earlier. "I suggest you allow me to handle Fergus. It was my decision to make Nathaniel a Grey Warden and my decision to award the bann of Amaranthine to Delilah. His argument is with me."

Loghain shook his head. "You made me commander, it is up to me," he argued without any enthusiasm.

"I think, oh great Stubborn One, that it will go much more peacefully if you allow me to deal with the teyrn. You will have your hands full with your daughter and her sudden visit, yes?"

Leonie barely had time to don her ceremonial plate and buckle on her scabbard before Teyrn Fergus Cousland's entourage arrived. Apparently the pair of riders that had been behind them caught up to them and joined the group. Leonie made her way down the stairs and out of the keep, to join Loghain on the top step overlooking the courtyard.

The honor guard, part of the newly formed Silver Order, stood proud and polished, silverite armor gleaming in the sunlight. Behind Leonie and Loghain stood the Wardens with the exception of Avernus, Jarren and Fiona. Ewan and Enoch, not yet having taken their Joining, were among the group, wearing the tabard of the Grey Wardens over their armor.

"Teyrn Fergus, I am Arlessa Leonie and I bid you welcome to Vigil's Keep," Leonie greeted, making her way to bow before the imposing figure that had just dismounted. "I offer the hospitality of Vigil's Keep to you and yours."

"I accept your hospitality and ask for a private audience to discuss matters of the utmost importance," the man replied, his eye searching the crowd. Leonie saw the moment he found what he was looking for. His good eye, a warm brown, narrowed and his generous mouth turned down at the corners.

"As you wish," Leonie said. She could almost feel Loghain bristling, he was not happy with the arrangements but he understood the wisdom of the decision.

Before she could turn and lead the man into the Vigil, a woman's voice broke through the ceremonial exchange.

"Lion!" Nila Parnell Caron Gilmore cried. Leonie's eyes widened in disbelief.

"Mama?" she asked wonderingly. She blinked away tears and watched as her mother pushed her way through the crowds and gently pulled Leonie into comforting arms.

"I'm here, daughter. All will be well now."

Leonie closed her eyes briefly as she hugged her mother._ If only will could make it so_. She struggled to calm her emotions in front of Fergus Cousland who was watching the exchange with a great deal of curiosity.

"Have you met my mother, Teyrn Fergus?" she asked when she finally had her tears under control.

"I have met Lady Nila Gilmore. I had no idea that she was your mother," he admitted with a glare at Roan Gilmore. "Knowledge which would have been helpful to have before my arrival," he added in a somewhat rueful tone.

Nila turned to stare up into Fergus's face, her eyes kind. "You were far too busy catching up with Roan to leave time for much in the way of explanation," the older woman replied kindly.

The day was taking on a dreamlike quality as Leonie stood beside her mother, staring up at a man who hated Nathaniel and probably hated her by default. She glanced over at Loghain who looked a bit panicked and she realized that introductions would have to be made. And soon.

"You see to Fergus, Leonie. I'm sure Loghain can entertain us while you are busy," Nila said softly, but not so softly that Loghain didn't here. His face paled and had the circumstances with Fergus not been so serious, Leonie would have burst out laughing. The mighty Hero of River Dane, killer of the Archdemon, quailing at the thought of being alone with her mother. As it was, she found her smile returning to her face.

Leonie led Fergus into her office. Before entering, he cast a look back at Nathaniel, standing pale and quiet, refusing the comfort of Tamra or Sigrun. She saw Nathaniel and Fergus lock eyes and she tensed, waiting for the inevitable fight to break out. Nathaniel looked grim and proud and infinitely sad to Leonie and she wanted to offer Nathaniel some comforting words but instead closed the door once Fergus entered.

"What do you mean by rewarding traitors to Ferelden? Is this what Orlais does to those who murder innocents?" Fergus asked bitterly as soon as they were alone in her office.

Leonie motioned for him to sit and he shook his head, glaring at her from his good eye. She took a moment to study him, took in the shadows beneath his eye and in his gaze, saw that a once proud man had been laid low by the weight of grief and guilt. Understood he would not be easily mollified.

"Why are you here, Teyrn Fergus?" she asked forthrightly.

"To see that justice is meted out," he replied promptly, his voice ragged with emotion.

"What do you wish to see in the way of this justice?" she asked curiously, motioning him once again to a chair. Once again he refused. Leonie sighed internally, striving to keep her face neutral.

"Nathaniel and Delilah should be stripped of all property and exiled at the very least although I would see them swinging from Traitor's Gate."

Leonie pondered this and gave him a puzzled look. "I am confused by such a notion, Teyrn Fergus and beg you indulgence."

Fergus stared at her, eye narrowed once again in suspicion. "Go on," he said warily.

"I was not aware that either of them took part in the heinous, despicable acts carried out upon your family, your Grace. Had I been aware of their involvement, my decisions would have been quite different, I assure you," she replied in as reasonable a voice as she could. She met his gaze head on and managed a polite smile.

"How do you know? How do you know they didn't know about it but chose not to speak up about it? To warn my father?" he spat, his wrath sudden and volatile. "You can't trust a Howe. My family did and they died for it."

Leonie tilted her head, her smile now sympathetic. "It is most difficult, is it not, to survive the death of people we hold dear? There is a special edge to that kind of grief that stabs into our heart with every breath. It should have been us who died, not those we love. We should have been there to prevent it, been there to protect them and yet we are left to deal with the aftermath, to make sense of that which makes no sense," she said softly, her eyes brimming with sudden tears. She blinked them away and continued to meet Fergus's look with one that she hoped conveyed her compassion but also her strength of purpose.

"I was married to Warden Commander Duncan," she began and stopped, her eyes filling again. Maker, do not let me cry now, she begged.

"One of the last things he said to me was to live my life, to mourn if I must, but that I must promise to let go of the grief, to step out of its shadow and live again, that it was the only way to truly honor his memory. Believe me, your Grace, I did not wish to. I wanted to die as well, I wanted to kill those responsible for his death, I was angry at him for dying and furious with myself for being alive. You, I think, must understand this, yes?"

Fergus nodded once and finally sat down in a chair. Relieved, Leonie sat in the chair beside his, rather than behind her desk. She wanted to be accessible, to show no fear. It was not easy in the face of his anger and hurt.

"I know you wish to see Nathaniel and Delilah Howe punished for their father's acts. But would your loved ones, your family, want to see the innocent punished simply because your guilt at surviving and your anger at being left alone to pick up the pieces demands such a thing?"

Fergus slammed a fist onto the arm of his chair, his anger flaring hotly in his good eye, resting with twisting pain on his lips. "You know nothing of my family or how I feel. You think because you lost your husband you know what I have lost? One man, not an entire family," he ground out heatedly.

"I do not know what it is like to lose a child, I will admit that, but Duncan is not the only person I have lost. Nearly everyone I have ever cared about is dead. And those who have not yet died will do so much sooner than they should. I do understand loss, your Grace, and I understand the remorse of surviving, the terrible grief that robs you of sleep and appetite, that makes each day a burden that is unbearable at times.

"I understand the need to make someone, _anyone_, pay for the terrible pain and suffering, partly in the hope that it will ease the pain that burns into your heart and soul. But if you condemn the innocent to death, or exile, if you exact a punishment that is underserved and unjust, you will not lessen your pain and suffering, you will only increase it. You will only extend the time it takes you to heal from the grievous wounds caused by your family's deaths."

Fergus was pale, a look of raw grief in his expression. He turned away from her and she saw his shoulders shake before he stiffened and turned back to face her. "Why didn't you just kill them?" he asked tiredly, bringing his hands up to scrub at his face.

Leonie finally allowed herself to sigh. She reached forward in her need to comfort the man before her, placing a gentle hand on his arm.

"I do not kill innocent people. They were not a party to their father's depravity, your Grace, and this you know. Nathaniel has proven himself to be a brave and honorable man time and time again. A noble and just man, who bears the burden of a traitorous father every day.

"Were it not for Delilah's calm reassuring presence and intelligent and fair governance of Amaranthine, the city would have been destroyed during the darkspawn attack on it. Both have proven their loyalty to Ferelden and the people of the arling. Why would I wish to punish them for rising above their own shame and grief at their father's actions? They are to be commended, not condemned."

Silence fell, stiff and cold. Leonie waited for Fergus to speak, her muscles taut from the stress. "I – I miss my son," he said brokenly. "I miss my family," he continued, voice thick with emotions. "Why couldn't I have just died too?" he whispered.

Maker, how many times had she wondered the same thing? With every loss she had experienced, she had felt that way and now, ironically, she was desperate to hang on for as long as she could, wanted to grow old with Loghain and instead was watching her earlier wish come true.

"Perhaps there is more that you are destined to do, your Grace. Is it not better to meet whatever your destiny is free of the added guilt incurred by condemning the innocent?" she asked softly.

Fergus's laugh was a short bark of mirth. "You remind me of my mother, determined to make her point and sure her point was the only one worth making."

Leonie was surprised into an answering laugh. "I think you have just called me stubborn and arrogant in a most kind way."

"You really believe Nathaniel and Delilah didn't know of Howe's plans?" Fergus asked and there was just a hint of relief in his voice, a need to believe.

"I do believe that, yes, your Grace."

"Oh stop with that. Fergus. Call me Fergus," he commanded. "Please," he added.

"Then you must call me Leonie, or Leo if you prefer," she responded, her own relief palpable.

"Not Lion? Or are the rumors that you're the Lion of Orlais false?" he asked, his face creasing into a smile that seemed unused to sitting on his lips.

Leonie blushed. Did the entire country know of her ridiculous title? "If that is your wish, your – Fergus."

Silence fell once again, but less cold and stiff. Leonie was reluctant to break it, unwilling to break the first strands of friendship beginning to weave between them, still fragile and new, but she wanted him to hear her other news from her mouth and not someone else's.

"You should know, Fergus, that I have recently remarried," she began and fumbled to a halt.

"Oh? Congratulations. Don't tell me it's Nathaniel?" he asked, suspicion once more coloring his voice.

"No, no. It is…"

"You married Leonie? Oh father!" came Anora's surprised yelp from the adjacent office. Leonie didn't have time to examine whether the yelp was a happy yelp or an angry one.

Fergus frowned as it began to sink in. "You married the Hero of River Dane?" he asked and to her great surprise, he began to laugh. She wondered momentarily if he was hysterical or gone mad with grief.

"Maker, the most paranoid Orlesian hater in all of Ferelden married an _Orlesian_?" he gasped in between peals of genuine amusement.

"I give up. I can't fight a force strong enough to fell the mighty Loghain Mac Tir," Fergus Cousland said, raising his hands in surrender.


	47. Chapter 47

**Grains of Sand**

"Andraste's grace, there are too many people here," Leonie complained, cinching her golden girdle around her waist. She looked up at Loghain who was watching her with an amused expression. She ran a brush through her hair and then twisted it up, looking for some hairpins.

"What? What makes you smirk so?" she asked impatiently. He snickered. She huffed.

"You're afraid of my _daughter_?" he asked, trying unsuccessfully to hide his ever growing amusement.

"No more so than you are of my _mother_," she retorted, enjoying the way his smile faded.

He huffed. She snickered. "I'm hardly afraid of a woman who is half my size and bears a striking resemblance to my wife," he replied sarcastically. "Unless the inference is that I'm afraid of you?" he continued, brow arched dramatically. The pillow caught him on the side of his head.

"Insolent chit," he said, reaching for the pillow.

"You would be wise to fear me," she replied with a frown as he deftly tossed the pillow onto their bed. He snorted.

They were preparing for a hastily arranged banquet to honor the queen's arrival. And Teyrn Fergus Cousland's arrival. And Arl Teagan's arrival. And Bann Roan and Lady Nila's arrival. Tomorrow they could expect Eamon's arrival, according to Nemishia.

"You should have seen your expression when Mama dragged you off," Leonie said with another snicker. "Terrified. A grown man with a look of abject terror on his face over a little snippet of a woman."

A sleek jet eyebrow arched again. "Your penchant for exaggeration grows daily," he replied with feigned disapproval, reaching up to braid his hair. "A thoroughly _Orlesian_ trait."

Leonie went to him, gently brushing his hands away and weaving his braids with nimble fingers. "But you must admit an extremely adorable one," she teased, looking at him through a veil of lashes.

"Maker's breath, one compliment and your ego explodes," he huffed, pulling her to him and giving her a searing kiss that left her unable to speak for long moments. Smugly adjusting his doublet, he offered her his arm.

"I hate you, Loghain Mac Tir," she hissed, her smile dancing in her eyes.

"Really? How very skillful you are at hiding it, Leonie Mac Tir," he replied with a smirk. She laughed up at him as she took his arm.

The guests were all gathered in the great hall, awaiting their arrival. The queen would then make her entrance. Anora was standing at the top of the stairs, waiting for them, looking cool and regal and beautiful in a softly styled pastel gown that accentuated her small waist and blue eyes.

"You look lovely, Queen Anora," Leonie said honestly, dropping into a curtsey.

Anora's smile was a replica of her father's dry smile. "Thank you, Leonie. Or should I call you Mother?" she asked with a gleam in her blue eyes.

Leonie's eyes widened and then blinked as they went from Loghain to Anora and back again, a silent plea for help in her eyes. Was she teasing Leonie or did Anora expect to call her mother? Loghain snorted and Anora chuckled softly.

"As you said, Father, sheer panic," Anora teased. "Please, Leonie, call me Anora. And welcome to the family. I want to hear all about your wedding. Father's description of the ceremony was extremely disappointing. He made it sound like a military drill."

"Oh but it was, complete with marching and saber rattling," Leonie said with a devious gleam in her eyes. "I shall be most happy to describe it in greater detail over dinner, _Daughter_."

Anora's laughter followed them down the stairs and into the great hall.

Fergus and Roan stood off from the main body of people, talking quietly. Leonie was happy to see that Fergus was no longer shooting daggers at Nathaniel. Her mother was talking to Aura and Anders, who both looked very happy to be in each other's company one again. Nathaniel looked miserable but the Wardens were there, standing with him, supporting him. Leonie smiled as a swell of pride swept through her. Even Karlin, looking very pretty in a plain dark green gown, was there, talking softly with Sigrun and Alistair. Phillipe was standing alone, looking uncomfortable and out of place. Leonie was on her way to his side when Teagan found her.

"Ah, the beautiful bride," Teagan said, his wonderful seascape eyes alight with warmth and humor. "I offer my sincere congratulations on your marriage, Leonie." Bowing over her hand, he kissed it lightly.

Before more could be said, Travis entered the room, wearing his tribal leathers, his hair shining like polished silver in the candlelight and dressed with colorful feathers and beads. Beside him stood Nemishia, wearing a gown that Leonie recognized as one of Tamra's. It was a sea foam color that made her silver eyes glow brightly. She was stunning. Apparently Teagan thought so too. He had fallen silent. Leonie looked at him and smiled.

"You have not ever seen a Chasind?" she asked innocently and he turned his smile on her.

"Hardly a barbarian, is she? Ah, another myth destroyed," he replied with a charming smile gracing his handsome face. "And is that one of the queen's Horseguard standing with her?"

"He was until he became a Grey Warden. His name is Travis Kenji. He is also Chasind. Would you like an introduction?" Leonie asked and was practically dragged across the room until they were standing in front of Travis and Nemishia. Introductions were made and Leonie excused herself, making her way to Phillipe.

"Good evening, Phillipe. Are you ready for your return voyage?" Leonie enquired, giving him a warm smile.

"I have been thinking, Lion. You need someone to go to this secret cache in the Blasted Hills to recover documents. You can't go, it's too dangerous. It's dangerous for any of the Ferelden Wardens to travel that route now, with Nevarra and Orlais on the brink of war. Having a Ferelden Warden caught on either side of the border would cause even more mistrust to the situation. I can go. I can travel without…" Phillipe began, earnest and determined.

"No, Phillipe, it is much too dangerous for you to travel into the Deep Roads alone, and Fiona has only a vague idea of where the cache is. Even if you did find the cache it is most likely ciphered and only a Grey Warden would be able to open the cache. There are ciphers that require our tainted blood to unlock them." Her voice was soft but emphatic as she interrupted him, touched that he would volunteer to go on so dangerous a mission, to risk his life to help her.

"Gambhira said my road was a long one but I must finish it to its end. She may have meant that literally. I can travel quickly and without fear as a special envoy to her Imperial Highness, Empress Celene. The ship at my disposal is fast. I have thought this through, Leonie. This isn't offered as the whim of that foolish man who arrived here. I want to help. I _need_ to help," he argued and there was such strength in him as he spoke, such belief in the course of action he proposed.

"A sensible plan," Loghain agreed, the approval in his voice surprising Leonie as he came to stand beside them. He had obviously heard the entire conversation. "You could be on your way with tomorrow morning's t…"

"No it is not sensible. I do not want people running about getting killed because of me," she interjected, hands fisting at her waist.

"After dinner, we'll meet with Fiona, she should be able to draw a map for you," Loghain continued calmly, ignoring her objections.

"Please, do not do this," Leonie implored. She didn't want others to die for her, didn't want to continue to put people's lives at risk. She thought of the men in Weisshaupt who had already died because of her blood. She put her hand on Loghain's arm.

"I do not want more blood on my hands," she insisted, searching his face for some way to get him to understand she didn't want Phillipe's death on her hands.

"I have every confidence in his abilities, Leonie," Loghain said with that quiet implacability that made Leonie want to hurl breakable items at his stubborn head.

"Travis told me that time is like the sand, Lion. We try to hold it within our grasp but the grains of sand leak out of even the most tightly clenched fist, escaping from us, and before we even realize it, all the sand has drained away. Time has drained away. You really don't have much time, even I can sense that. I can see it. Let me do this," Phillipe urged.

Leonie looked from Loghain, with his jaw set in steely determination, to Phillipe, appealingly earnest and matured from his trip to the heart of the Blightstorm. She would not win the debate. As much as she didn't want to, she finally consented, as if it mattered whether she agreed to it or not, she thought sourly.

"But Phillipe, you must bring a Warden with you, yes? Going to the cache alone only to discover you cannot get to it for lack of Warden blood defeats the entire purpose for the expedition."

Loghain's low hum of approval, soft enough for her ears alone, made her desire to throw something at his head even stronger. She had not conceded for his approval. He was beginning to be a bit too comfortable in his position as not only Commander of the Grey, but husband as well. When she was sure that Phillipe was not watching her, she reached out and poked Loghain in the ribs. His startled yelp was all the music she could ever want.

"Some day, Leonie, that finger will come away broken," he growled at her, his words losing any real threat by the smile hovering behind the wintery blue depths of his eyes.

"Indeed, Loghain? I wait with trembling fear at such a prospect."

As the evening wore on, Leonie's fatigue settled like a heavy blanket on her, stooping her shoulders, causing her smile to tremble slightly at the corners. She worked her way through the meal, picking at her food, trying to listen to the cacophony of voices surrounding her instead of the insistent, incessant whispers in her blood.

"Leonie, your nose," Teagan, seated on her left, whispered to her with concern. He unobtrusively handed her a handkerchief. She dabbed at her nose and was dismayed to see blood on the fine white linen cloth.

"I - excuse me," she murmured, pushing her chair back and leaving the dining hall with quick steps. Once outside, she leaned against the wall, pressing the cloth to her nose.

Loghain was there, arriving as quietly as a night wind. "You need to retire for the evening," he said firmly, taking her arm and leading her to the stairs.

She didn't want to leave; she didn't want the grains of sand to leak away so quickly. She had to find a way to stop the process, or at least slow its progress.

"No, I need only a few moments," she argued. Maker, she was just so tired. And the whispered voices that begged her for help would not leave her alone.

"You promised to fight this but instead you're fighting with everything I say."

Leonie looked up into his face; saw the anxiety glowing brightly in his eyes. "I do not want to miss a moment of this time we have together, Loghain," she whispered and to her chagrin tears began to trickle down her cheeks.

Without another word, he once again scooped her up in his arms and carried her up to their quarters. Leonie hated the weakness that seemed to drain her of her will. And for the love of the Maker, she wanted to stop the tears that fell so readily. She had cried more in the past month than in all the years prior and she was so tired of it, of being weak. She was afraid, afraid of the darkness, afraid of the call in her blood, afraid that her death would devastate Loghain.

"I will continue to fight, Loghain, but I am so tired," she sniffed tearfully. "And I do not wish to cry anymore but I cannot seem to stop the tears."

Loghain settled her in a chair and knelt in front of her, gently grasping her chin, forcing her to look at him. When he spoke his voice was gentle and reproachful.

"Fight harder. Eat more. You aren't eating enough to keep a bird alive, it's hardly surprising that you're tired all the time. If the food isn't to your liking, tell Terrill what you'd prefer. The woman dotes on you and will fix anything you ask for."

Leonie let her eyes slide away from his and he released her chin from his grasp. "Don't give up, Leonie. Don't you dare."

She heard it then, the fear and pain in his voice, riding just beneath his stern admonishment. She leaned into him and closed her eyes. "I will not give up."

Before more could be said, Nila arrived, knocking loudly. Loghain opened the door and looked distinctly uncomfortable as Nila sailed into the room and straight to Leonie's side.

"What is going on, Lion?" her mother asked with that tone only a mother could use, no nonsense but full of love.

"Nothing, Mama. I am fine."

"You're not fine, Lion. You're dying," Nila said with surprising calm. "I've seen enough men entering their Calling to know it when I see it in my own daughter. The question is why has it arrived so early?"

Loghain placed his hand on Leonie's shoulder. "You need to tell her," he said in a low voice.

"That's a rather long tale involving a number of Grey Warden secrets," Leonie said quietly.

"Then I suggest you begin this tale now," her mother replied firmly. "I'm not leaving until I hear all of it."

"I will be fine, Loghain. You should see to our guests. I am still concerned for Nathaniel's safety. Fergus is less angry, but only just," Leonie instructed and Loghain nodded, pausing long enough to run his knuckles lightly against her cheek.

"Sit down, Mama," Leonie said quietly and began to tell her mother the history of her blood.

* * *

Fergus was startled by the sound. A low rumble of laughter in his chest. The second time that day he had laughed, an odd and almost forgotten sensation that he discovered he liked. Sitting at the head table, with Anora on his left and Roan on his right, he'd felt comfortable enough to actually participate in conversations. Now people were up and milling about, chatting and laughing. He was content to watch the throng of people.

Fergus found Anders a very likable man, funny without being malicious, doting on the pregnant woman on his arm. He had discovered that the woman, Aura, was carrying another man's child, her late husband's child. Her late husband had been a Grey Warden killed by the darkspawn while out on a mission. The teyrn was beginning to appreciate that being a Grey Warden meant an early death and a dedication to duty that he had never quite felt in himself but always admired in others.

He turned to Anora, sitting with a calm smile on her face as she surveyed the gathering. Once they too had been friends. Not great friends, like he and Nate had been, but friends who shared a love for history books and battle strategies. She had a fine, sharp mind that he had always been both intimidated by and challenged by. He had once entertained romantic fantasies about marrying her and having her as his second in command until he had seen her with a sword. She was as graceful as a swan usually but in the sparring ring she was as ungainly as a newborn colt. He hadn't been able to hide the sound of his laughter. Shortly after that episode she had decided that she was above him, setting her sights on Cailan and never looking back. Served him right for being such a late bloomer, Fergus reckoned, and from what he had seen of her she had been happy with her choice. But then Anora wouldn't allow anyone to see her as anything but happy.

"Stop staring at me," Anora whispered.

"Then wipe the gravy off your chin," Fergus shot back with another rusty laugh as she immediately brought her napkin up to dab delicately at her chin.

"Ah, still the overgrown boy, I see," she retorted as soon as she discovered there was no gravy anywhere on her. Without turning to look at him, she said softly, "You look well, Fergus."

He was surprised to hear her say so. His hair was shaggy and ill-cut; he forgot to shave most days and only remembered when Floss, his housekeeper, reminded him. He had a jagged scar running along the side of his neck that was puckered and pink and he was missing an eye. "Aiming for a new look at court," he deadpanned, surprised to hear her little snort of amusement.

"Look, if your goal is to get me to soften my stance on Nathaniel and Delilah Howe before the Landsmeet, don't bother. I can see Nate is still the honorable person he always was and I'm sure Delilah is as well. Just don't announce it this minute."

"As you wish, Teyrn Fergus," she consented graciously. "But show him mercy, he carries a heavy burden."

Fergus turned to look at her then, the ice maiden born of a commoner who had the regal airs of the highest born nobles. A delicate pink brushed across her cheekbones and she continued to stare out at the other guests, who were busy pushing tables back for an impromptu dance. Her surprising compassion touched him, rested in his chest like a warm caress.

Well, Fergus thought with a grin, it was certainly proving to be an interesting trip. He looked back at the crowd. Nathaniel was standing alone, leaning against the far wall, arms crossed, watching Fergus warily.

"If your Majesty will excuse me," Fergus said and strode across the room to plant himself in front of Nathaniel.

"Tell me," Fergus demanded in a low, urgent voice. "Tell me you didn't have any idea what your father was planning. Swear it to me and I'll believe you."

Nathaniel stared at him, his head held at a proud, defiant angle. "You should already know I would never do anything like that; nor would I condone it if I'd known. We were friends once and you knew me better than my own brother knew me," Nathaniel replied with that cool reserve he had developed at such a young age. Fergus wondered briefly if it was natural or something cultivated to hide the hurt of growing up with a sick bastard for a father. Then he wondered why he would wonder such a thing.

"I need to hear you say it, Nate," Fergus said, his hands curling into fists. They locked eyes and neither backed down. A hush fell over the crowd and Fergus had an ache in his gut, thinking that they were about to have a fight. Nate could always pound him into the ground, he was smaller than Fergus but with a tensile strength and nimble agility that Fergus lacked.

"I didn't know, Fergus. For Andraste's sake, how could you even think I would?" Nathaniel asked with quiet dignity.

Fergus nodded, one, twice. He felt the unwelcome sting of tears and fought for control of his emotions. He needed to believe in something, in the innate goodness of _someone_, he had to learn to trust his own ability to judge a man fairly again. He ran a hand though his shaggy brown hair and nodded again, finally trusting his voice.

"It's good to see you again, Nate," Fergus said quietly.

* * *

Loghain went straight to the laboratory, each step measured as he tried to control his rage. He was no expert but he saw his wife wasting away before his eyes; the Calling was accelerating at an alarming pace. His steps slowed and he frowned as he saw that the soldiers who had been assigned to guard the laboratory were not at their post. His steps slowed, became soft and stealthy as the hair on the back of his neck stood up and the knot of anger tightened in his belly. He reached down and extracted his boot knife, wishing he had thought to wear a dagger. The door to the lab was ajar.

Sweat beaded on his brow as he slowly pushed the door to the lab open, nerves snapping along synapses. Savine, the Weisshaupt Warden, was standing at a table, a vial of blood in each hand. The sweat on Loghain's brow turned icy as his blood froze.

"That's far enough Warden," the younger Warden warned, turning. "Commander Loghain," he corrected insolently.

Loghain cursed his tainted blood for giving him away. "What do you think you're doing?" he snarled, refusing to allow the hard coil of fear to overwhelm his knot of anger.

"I'm doing what is necessary of course," Savine said in a reasonable voice. "Just as you should be. We serve a greater good and no matter the cost, I'll do what is necessary to preserve our Order."

Loghain surreptitiously glanced around the room and took in the slumped bodies in the corner. He recognized them as the guards. In his quick reconnoiter he thought he saw one of them stirring. Could he keep the man talking long enough for the guard to provide a necessary distraction should he awaken? It was a gamble but one he was willing to take. He met Savine's eyes.

"Leonie said you saved her in Weisshaupt, so forgive me if I'm puzzled by this sudden need to kill her," Loghain said coldly. He deliberately kept his eyes on the hulking figure of Savine and not on the corner of the room where the guard was slowly awakening.

"Leonie Caron, the Lion of Orlais, the Warden's Warden," Savine said contemptuously. "So sure she knows what's best for the Order. She just can't leave it alone. It was easy enough to sabotage Fiona's work but Leonie just won't rest until she knows all the answers, even if it destroys the Grey Wardens. We can't allow that to happen."

Loghain moved slightly to the left, never taking his eyes off of Savine. The soldier was awake, carefully moving very slowly into a crouch. "She doesn't have any answers, Savine, she doesn't even know what questions to ask," Loghain said softly. "But you know that, don't you? You know that she is just a Warden doing what is necessary, no matter the cost and it's cost her enough," he finished, throwing Savine's words back at him and taking a small step toward Savine.

Savine shook his head. "If only a drop of her blood mixing with the Architect's blood causes her such pain, imagine what an entire vial will do. I suggest you stay back."

A deep breath and then another as Loghain fought for control of his rage. "Why? Why not just kill her outright? Surely you have some compassion in you somewhere. Isn't that why you saved her life? You knew she was just a victim of one man's refusal to live life with any sort of honor. Now here you are, doing the same."

"Silence!" Savine commanded, bringing his hands close together. It would be nearly impossible for Loghain to attack him and still keep the vials from crashing together and breaking.

"She talked about you, when you arrived; about your honor and dedication, about your decency. She's usually not such a bad judge of character," Loghain said, allowing his own contempt to bleed into his voice, allowing himself to unleash his fury. "You're just a puppet for the cowards in Weisshaupt," he added bitingly.

"Silence!" Savine roared again, stepping forward. But there was a flicker of something in his eyes, Loghain saw it there and gone in a flash. Uncertainty.

"You think you can stop this now? Stop the questions we're all asking about the nature of the taint? You plan to kill us all, do you?" Loghain pressed on, his voice cold and disdainful. "You plan to work your way through the entire garrison? The Queen and her soldiers? You think you'll be allowed to leave?"

Savine laughed, a cold and soulless sound that chilled Loghain. "I'm already dead, you think I don't know that? Do you think I even care? By any means necessary, no matter the cost. Leonie's death will end this. I have been assured of that."

There it was again, a quick tremor of uncertainty and gone again. Loghain continued on, hoping the guard didn't rush Savine until he was in position as well. Loghain took a step forward.

"If she dies, I assure you that the secret will not die. She has already prepared and dispatched correspondence to Warden Commanders throughout Thedas, those she trusts. They know everything she knows. I would think many of them are ready to cut ties with Weisshaupt entirely. We certainly are."

He watched with a small sense of triumph as Savine's face blanched; a pasty, sickly white. "You think Leonie didn't realize Weisshaupt's duplicity in all of this? You really are a naïve _boy_, aren't you?" Loghain jeered, taking another step closer.

"You're lying," Savine said but the doubt was taking hold of him now. He lowered his hands to his sides. Now was the time to strike and with a slight nod, the soldier stood. Savine swung around at the noise and it was the opening Loghain needed.

Loghain launched himself at Savine, one hand snaking out to hold the man's left wrist, the other stabbing his boot knife into the man's beefy throat. Savine howled in rage, his fury giving him added strength. Loghain's grip on the knife loosened as Savine's blood coated his hand.

The breaking of glass alerted Loghain to the fact that one of the vials had dropped to the floor. Fear added to his fury. The other vial. He had to get the other vial before Savine let go of it. The hand that Loghain had clamped around Savine's wrist moved to cover the man's hold on the vial just as Savine's hand clamped with lethal intent around Loghain's throat.

The solider, riding on Savine's back, pulled at the burly man's head, forcing him to stumble back. Savine was twisting, trying to escape the knife. Loghain's vision was narrowing and his breath was coming in ever weakening gasps. He tightened his grip on Savine's hand. If Savine released the second vial, Loghain would have it, if he didn't pass out first. He needed a diversion, a distraction of some kind. Savine's hand was a vice around his neck and Loghain felt the slow passage of time speeding up as his lungs burned.

"Stop!" a voice roared and the three men froze at the sound of Leonie Caron's voice. It was the necessary distraction Loghain needed. He gripped the knife and slid it out of Savine's thick neck before plunging it into the man's eye. With a screech of pain that died almost before it began, Savine toppled forward, pulling Loghain and the vial down but Loghain grabbed the vial from the man's loosened grip and rolled out of the way, laying on the ground panting. He really was getting too old for hand to hand combat, he thought, clutching the vial.

Leonie crouched beside him, trembling and pale. "Loghain, are you hurt?" she asked, brushing a sweat soaked braid from his bloodied face.

Loghain raised an eyebrow at that. "I just fought a man as large as an ogre, what do you think?" he asked with a grunt of pain as she began to dab at the blood.

"I think your temper was not mellowed in the least by your fight," she responded with a tremulous smile.

He let her fuss over him for a moment, wondering if he had stopped the steady drip of sand or if it really was impossible to slow the passage of time. The only thing he had really done was postponed the inevitability of her death.

Leonie leaned down and kissed his brow, a whisper floating in his ears and his heart.

"Hope is stronger than fear," she reminded him softly.


	48. Chapter 48

**In Silence Speaks the Truth**

Deep bruises in the perfect shape of Savine's fingers were turning a dark shade of purple along Loghain's neck and when he spoke his voice was rough and raw.

"I want Fiona in here now," he growled hoarsely. The soldier nodded and ran to obey Loghain.

"Loghain, give your throat a rest," Leonie chided, bending down to examine Savine.

She had come to the laboratory in search of Avernus. Her mother had rightly pointed out that he had survived his taint for over two hundred years so he must have some way to slow the taint down. Leonie wasn't sure why she hadn't thought of that herself and even more troubling was why Avernus had not offered the information.

Savine, her savior in Weisshaupt, had turned into her would-be assassin. Why? What group in Weisshaupt wanted the answers about her blood to remain undiscovered? And why had Savine aligned himself with such a group? He had been a steadfast defender of the honor of the Grey Wardens. She carefully removed Loghain's boot knife from Savine's eye and stared at the man. He looked somehow smaller in death.

A dispirited sigh escaped her but not a tear was shed for Savine. He had betrayed her and more, he had betrayed the Warden's unspoken oath of brotherhood. Somehow she wasn't even that surprised and that saddened her more than his death. She was not the naïve and trusting woman who had arrived at Vigil's Keep all those months ago. She wanted to cry for the loss of that woman but could not. Instead, she wiped Loghain's knife and her hands on a cloth and came to sit beside Loghain, who was propped against the wall, head tilted back and eyes closed.

"I wonder how many times he mixed the blood together? Or what else he did to hasten my Calling?" she mused out loud.

"I don't care if Fiona is Alistair's mother. If she was involved in this, she will die by my hand," Loghain snarled. Leonie winced at the rawness in his voice.

"Hush, Loghain, you sound like you have eaten a frog," Leonie said and was surprised by Loghain's soft snicker.

"Frog in my throat," he croaked.

"Maker's breath, is that not what I said? How else would a frog get in your throat if you did not eat it?" she huffed.

He reached out and took her hand, squeezing it. "Exactly so," he rumbled.

Fiona arrived, along with the soldier and Anders.

"Someone call for a healer?" Anders asked with a grin that quickly died away as he surveyed the scene.

"What have you done?" Fiona asked, kneeling beside Savine.

"What have _I_ done?" Loghain snarled incredulously but Leonie cut in, trying to spare Loghain the pain of speaking.

"What have _you_ done, Fiona? Savine was mixing my blood in secret, did you know that? He was under orders from a group in Weisshaupt to hasten my Calling. How fortunate for you that his plan has succeeded, yes?" Leonie asked, cold and unforgiving.

Fiona's brown eyes widened. "What are you saying?"

Leonie could feel Anders's magic as he began to heal Loghain's throat and neck; a comforting breath of magic that clung to the air. She also felt a burst of warm currents flowing through her, rejuvenating her. She found her voice again.

"I am saying that you brought Savine along and he betrayed me, he sabotaged your work, he has hastened my Calling. Since I have no intention of going on my Calling, given all that we know of my blood, I will be forced to kill myself in the very near future."

She heard Anders protest at that, could feel a shift in his magic as it darkened. "Unless you or Avernus can come up with something to slow it down, I have a few months left at most. But you know that, do you not, Fiona? You have always been able to sense the progression of the taint within me, have you not?"

"Leonie I had no idea he was here as anything more than my escort," Fiona protested, her expression registering her shock. Was it shock at Savine's violent death or shock that he had betrayed them? Leonie was not entirely sure as she studied the older woman.

"For a woman who has been through so much pain and grief in her life you are remarkably gullible, Fiona. Or perhaps you still believe I am?" Leonie finally replied with a lethal edge in her voice. She moved towards Fiona, watching the older woman carefully. Fiona's mouth was drawn in a tight line; her eyes narrowed now, an almost mulish expression in them.

"I am not prepared to discuss any of this while other Wardens are present," Fiona said stiffly.

"You are under some foolish notion that you can dictate anything here, Fiona. I assure you that is not so," Leonie replied, cold and implacable.

"I have mentioned before that there is a group in Weisshaupt that doesn't want your blood or its secrets to get out. I assume that Savine was working with them," Fiona said at last, after several tense moments of silence.

Loghain spoke, his voice less scratchy. "Thank you, Anders. That will be all. Send Avernus in here."

Anders looked at Leonie and she nodded with a smile. "I shall trust in your discretion, Anders. That means do not speak of this, even in your sleep, yes?"

"Right you are, fearless…er…Lion," Anders said with a lopsided grin and went to the door. He turned and gave her another look and she smiled reassuringly at him. He nodded and she felt another soothing wash of warmth in her and then he was gone.

"You are the most foolish woman in all of Thedas, Fiona. You continue to make very poor decisions and I wonder why you do not learn from earlier mistakes?"

Fiona's face flushed and she gripped her hands together in front of her. Leonie knew the mage's magic was building, that she could become dangerous if provoked too far but Leonie was not about to back down, not now. She waited for Fiona to speak.

"You are a danger, Leonie. It's very possible that you could start the next Blight. Do you really think Weisshaupt will just look the other way and hope it doesn't happen?" Fiona scoffed.

Leonie reached out and grabbed a fistful of Fiona's tunic, pulling her close. "You know that I am going to kill myself before that happens. And if I am too weak to do so, Loghain has sworn to do it for me. The next Blight will not be started by my hand, but by the secrets that reside within Weisshaupt. It will start because of people like you, Fiona; people who see wrongs but ignore them because they are afraid or because it is easier to do nothing; or by people who wish for power and dominion over others at the cost of entire nations," Leonie finished contemptuously and with great deliberation unhanded Fiona and stood back.

"You are responsible for the fifth Blight, you and your kind at Weisshaupt playing games with people's lives and, as is always the case, others will clean up your messes for you. You had twenty years to find the Architect and yet you did not. None of you did and I find that more than a coincidence."

Leonie turned her back on the woman and went to stand beside Loghain. His bruises were fainter, his eyes less shrouded in pain. She reached up and brushed away his braid, smiling softly.

"You are probably rethinking our marriage, yes? Such a bother this Leonie woman is," Leonie teased.

"Yes, a great bother indeed," Loghain agreed, taking her hand and squeezing it tightly in his. "I –"he began grimly.

Avernus entered the room and whatever Loghain might have been about to say was stilled by the old mage's appearance. Leonie turned to Avernus and smiled, tipping her head slightly to study the man. He was ancient, washed out and faded by time, stooped and yet proud, arrogant, his eyes shining with intelligence and a faint amusement, as if he found the world around him vastly entertaining.

"You no doubt have a reason for waking an old man?" he asked, supercilious and acerbic.

"Oh? Do you sleep? I was under the impression the aged did not require such a thing?" Leonie replied in dulcet tones.

Avernus's shoulders shook in silent amusement. "So, what is it you want?" he asked in a slightly friendlier manner.

"I wish to know how you have survived the taint for over two hundred years," Leonie replied with a bright smile.

"It's the blood, it's always the blood," Avernus said with a brittle chuckle. Leonie forced herself not to shiver, but the need was there. "Isn't that what your friend, Svanar, said? He's right, of course. Power always comes from blood. Tevinter understood that. Blood magic is only a small part of the power of blood. It sings, doesn't it?"

This time she couldn't repress the shiver that shuddered along her spine. Loghain stepped closer. "No more drivel, mage," he warned coldly.

Avernus smiled; a cold snake of a smile that curled along his lips but never reached his eyes. "I can slow the taint in your blood but it's a very painful process. My test subjects didn't survive. I doubt you would either."

"Tell me," Leonie ordered calmly.

"You can't be serious, Leonie!" Fiona protested and Leonie turned to her, eyes narrowed.

"You do not wish me to die? Or you do not wish me to prolong my life?" Leonie challenged quietly. Fiona's face paled but she met Leonie's look with a stony one of her own. The truth was there, in the silence between them but Leonie wanted to hear Fiona speak. She waited patiently.

"I know you think I'm some kind of monster. But he is the true monster. He is not even entirely human anymore. There's no way to know for certain that you won't become one more of his test subjects, none of which survived the torture he put them through. Think about this reasonably," Fiona finally spoke, her voice low and urgent.

"How very disingenuous of you, Fiona; you who have killed a number of your fellow Wardens to promote your own studies into my blood. You do not see the irony in what you say?"

Pain filled Fiona's eyes and Leonie saw it, felt it as an almost physical presence that surrounded the older woman. "I know what I've done," the elven woman said in a hushed voice. "I'll never know which of the experimental Joinings might have been the right one if Savine has been sabotaging my work all along, but I was working on the right course for the right reasons, whatever else you may think," Fiona said with quiet dignity.

"And what is the right course, Fiona? Protecting the secrets of the Wardens or correcting a mistake made a very long time ago?" Leonie asked softly.

Silence again, irrevocably broken trust and dead denials that hung in the air like stale sweat. She shouldn't trust Fiona again, she had before and it was costing her dearly. The women stared at each other, their thoughts painted on their faces, portraits frozen by the pain of words both spoken and unspoken.

"This is a discussion best saved for a later time," Loghain cut in to the silence with cold calm. "Tell us what is involved in slowing the taint down," he commanded Avernus.

"Electricity excites the properties of the blood. I hadn't considered it before, but it might actually change the harmonics of the blood. Yes, that's a distinct possibility. I have alchemically replicated a weaker version of the effects but I doubt, given your condition, the alchemical version would do anything at all. No, electricity seems the best methodology for this. Large doses of it," he concluded, an almost ghoulish tone in his manner that made Leonie's blood slow to an icy crawl.

"Leonie, give me a few days to find an alternative. Now that Savine will no longer be destroying my efforts, I may be able to make real progress."

Loghain laughed, a cold hard sound, chips of ice falling on the ground. "You've proven where your loyalties are, Fiona. I hold no illusions that you're suddenly motivated by concern for Leonie's welfare."

Leonie felt the weight of a headache forming and closed her eyes against the tableau before her. A crazy old mage and a bitter Weisshaupt puppet held the only hope she had. She didn't know whether to laugh or cry.

"You have done nothing to make me want to trust you, Fiona. I think we will be forced to use Avernus's methods," Leonie said and turned, walking quietly out of the room while she had any dignity left. Tears were beating angrily at her eyes. She hurried down the hall, barely making it to her room before they began to fall.

She needed more time and her hope was slipping into the dark. A sob broke and then another. She curled up on the bed and closed her eyes, trying to remember what Jader looked like in the spring. A shudder ran through her. But when Loghain entered a short time later, she greeted him with a smile and dry eyes. He held her for a long time, neither of them talking but both speaking to the other in the silence that surrounded them.

* * *

Leonie looked up from her desk, surprised to see Anora standing in the doorway. It was late and most of the occupants of the Vigil were sleeping. Leonie had found sleep impossible after her talk with Fiona and Avernus. Loghain had fallen asleep the minute his head touched the pillow. She had crept out of their room and quietly dressed before making her way to her office.

"Your Majesty," Leonie said, pushing back her chair and hastily standing.

"I thought you were going to address me by my name?" the queen chided softly, entering the room and closing the door behind her.

Taking a seat, Anora waved Leonie back into her chair. "I wanted to talk about Father without his interference," the queen said quietly. She hesitated.

"Please, Anora, speak your mind."

Anora folded her hands on her lap and stared at Leonie for long moments, her blue eyes intense and probing. Leonie felt the need to squirm in her seat under the intense scrutiny but held herself still. Finally, the queen began to speak.

"I can see that he cares for you a great deal. I was relieved to see him find someone after so long, an equal, someone who could challenge him," Anora began and smiled slightly. "That it was an Orlesian woman was surprising, to say the least. Our first meeting here did not lead me to believe you and my father could both survive in the same room."

Leonie laughed. "Life is a winding path, is it not? Leading us in directions we would not ordinarily choose to travel."

"I know you'll understand my concerns, Leonie. I don't want to pry but my father is very important to me," Anora continued, somewhat ominously, to Leonie's mind.

"Father lost two women he loved very much, both of them to a wasting sickness. He was forced to stand by helplessly and watch Queen Rowan and later my mother both gradually fade away in a most painful death. He thinks he's strong enough to endure these things completely unaffected, but that isn't true. He still carries around the scars of their deaths."

Leonie found she was gripping her hands tightly and looked at Anora, horrified and speechless. Anora smiled kindly before continuing, "I see how you've changed since our meeting in Denerim and I've heard people talking enough to put it all together. You're dying of a wasting sickness too, aren't you?"

It really shouldn't be a surprise that Anora was so perceptive and so blunt; she was her father's daughter in so many ways. "I – I had no idea that both Queen Rowan and your mother died from wasting diseases, Anora. I would wish to spare your father such pain."

Anora's porcelain skin paled and she gave Leonie a look filled with sympathy. "So it is true? You are dying?"

How much could she tell Anora? How much should she tell Anora? "Yes, Anora. What I am about to tell you, I tell you in the strictest confidence," Leonie began and sighed deeply. "In order to become a Grey Warden we must drink the blood of our enemy. If we survive, it provides immunity against the darkspawn disease. Or rather, it slows the process down by many years. Drinking the tainted blood is a death sentence, but it is not normally such an early one and it provides many benefits that help us fight the darkspawn. There is something different about my blood and my end is coming far too quickly. We have hopes of slowing the process; several mages are researching the issue here at the Vigil."

Avoiding Anora's sympathetic gaze, Leonie stood and began to pace the room. Maker, she didn't want to cause Loghain such pain. Why hadn't he told her? He must feel so helpless, so frustrated, so frightened. She had realized he felt all those things but not how deeply he must feel them. She rubbed her forehead.

"I love your father very much, Anora. More than I thought I could ever love again. Now that I understand how difficult and painful this is for him, I will do my utmost to help ease that pain."

"I don't doubt that, Leonie. I'm sure Father would be very displeased by our discussion, but I felt you should know."

"Thank you for telling me this, Anora," Leonie managed and made her way back to her chair, sinking into it.

"If there is anything I can do to help in the research effort, or in any other way, do not hesitate to ask."

Anora stood, moving to the door but stopped, her hand dropping to her side as she turned to face Leonie again. A very small furrow between her brows appeared. "I wanted to thank you for destroying those letters and for returning the one that Eamon sent to Cailan."

Leonie appreciated how difficult it was for Anora to express gratitude. She was very much her father's daughter in that regard as well. With a smile, Leonie nodded. "Of course, Anora. Anything for family."

Anora's dry laugh stayed with Leonie after the queen's departure. She set her letters aside and turned down the lamp before making her way back up to bed. Loghain was still sleeping and she climbed in beside him, curling around his warmth with a contented sigh.

"I love you, husband," she whispered against his chest. Loghain stirred, wrapping his arms around her.

"Don't you ever sleep?" he complained in muzzy tones, dropping a light kiss on her brow.

"At the risk of stroking your already immense ego, I find touching you more enjoyable than sleeping," she replied.

"Hardly surprising," he said, drowsy and smug.

She laughed softly, letting her fingers wander along his chest and down to his abdomen. She heard his quick intake of breath as her fingers traced the dark velvety line of hair from his belly downward. She stopped inches from its end, tapping her fingers against his skin. "I suppose I should not bother you while you sleep. Good night, husband."

Loghain growled, a low rumble that tickled her ear. "Having met your mother, I'm surprised she didn't teach you the importance of finishing what you start."

"And interrupt your sleep? She taught me to respect my elders," Leonie replied, smiling at his mild oath. She wrapped her hand around his manhood which was very much awake.

There was a sweet desperation in their love making, as if they both understood that their time together was nearly over. She clung to him in the aftermath, whispering against his warm skin; meaningless promises that they both tried to believe.

In the morning, they made their way downstairs early to discuss Phillipe's departure and decide which Warden would travel with him. Leonie insisted that they first ask for a volunteer as she didn't want to force anyone to risk their life for her. She really didn't want any of them to go, she would prefer to travel there herself, perhaps see Val Royeaux one last time, walk the broad boulevards that would now be sweet with the first spring flowers.

"Phillipe is leaving on the evening tide. He'll be traveling to Val Royeaux and then on to the Blasted Hills to find the Grey Warden cache hidden there. It seems very likely that a cure for Leonie is contained in the cache, or at least a formula that will help lead to one. A Grey Warden needs to accompany him in case Warden blood is required to open the cache. A dangerous journey for a Warden, given the current conflict between Orlais and Nevarra, so I am asking for a volunteer," Loghain finished, looking at each Warden before turning to Leonie.

It was all Leonie could do not to burst into tears as each Warden, with the exception of her guardian, Travis, volunteered. Long moments passed when she couldn't trust her voice not to break. "Thank you all," she whispered, heartfelt emotion in the simple words.

"A decision will be forthcoming. That's all," Loghain said with a wave of dismissal. Leonie looked at him, saw that he was just as moved by their devotion to her as she was, though he would never admit it.

"I do not wish Anders to go. Aura is too close to her confinement," Leonie began when they were alone. She didn't realize her tears were falling until Loghain reached over and wiped them away without a word, an absent minded gesture that somehow made her feel sad for him.

"It should be an elf," Loghain said, sitting down at his desk, studying her. "An elf can easily pass as a servant without raising suspicion."

"I suppose you are right. I am not sure Karlin is the ideal choice. She is still a bit immature I think."

"A bit? " Loghain snorted. Leonie raised a brow at him to show her displeasure but he ignored her. "I don't want Jarren going, he's needed in the laboratory."

"So, Darius? He seems able and willing but I do not feel right sending him away like this," Leonie confessed, staring down at her hands. "I would wish to go."

She left unspoken her desire to see her childhood home one more time, her homeland. Loghain came to her and tipped her chin up to study her composed face. "You can visit Orlais when this is all behind us, Leonie," he encouraged.

"Yes, and will you join me?" she asked, trying to lighten the mood.

Loghain raised his brow. "I married an Orlesian. Surely that's enough of a concession to Orlais?"

Leonie laughed, her dark thoughts dancing into the shadows as she did. When Varel found them moments later to announce Arl Eamon's impending arrival, she greeted him with a warm and teasing smile.

"Seneschal Varel, good morning to you."

"Arlessa Leonie," he said warily.

"How are you this fine morning, Seneschal Varel?" she continued, not at all perturbed by his raised brow.

"Very well, thank you Arlessa Leonie," Varel answered and looked at Loghain who shook his head with a slight shrug.

"Tell me, Seneschal Varel, how long before the arl arrives?"

Varel's lips twitched as he realized what Leonie was doing. "I assure you, Arlessa Leonie, I can outlast you," he said as he turned to leave.

"Varel, I shall win one day," she warned him.

"As you say, Arlessa Leonie," he replied and smiled at the sound of her laughter.

* * *

"Alistair, I would like a word in private, if you have time?" Teagan said, interrupting Alistair's thoughts. Alistair blinked.

"Sure, I guess," Alistair said a bit uncertainly, looking around. "One of the training rooms should be quiet enough."

There was a nervous flutter in Alistair's stomach as the two men walked to the training rooms. What could Teagan possibly want with him? Was he going to reprimand him? Let him know how disappointed he was in Alistair? Try to talk him into fighting Anora for the crown? Alistair liked Teagan. The man had treated him well but Teagan was Eamon's younger brother and had acted as his agent in the past.

They entered the training room and Alistair gave him a lopsided, nervous smile. "So, what is it? Rats in the cheese supply?" he joked.

Teagan's smile was kind and slightly bemused. "You look a great deal like Maric when you smile like that."

Alistair's heart sank. So it _was_ about trying to take over the throne again. The Landsmeet was six weeks away. Enough time to rally support. Alistair's hands fisted as his muscles tensed. "Yes, well, Maric is gone and Calian is gone. No more Theirin blood on the throne."

"That's not an entirely bad thing. Fresh blood, new ideas. Anora seems to be doing a good job as queen."

Alistair snapped his gaping mouth shut. So if not a fight to reclaim the throne, what? "Yes, absolutely, I couldn't agree more," he babbled incoherently. Teagan laughed, but not unkindly.

"I think your father would be very proud of you, Alistair."

Of all the things he had expected Teagan to say, that was not even on the list. Alistair blinked, blinked again, before speaking, "Sure, why wouldn't he be? I mean, walking out on the eve of battle, drinking my problems away instead of facing them, coming back and terrorizing the new commander. Maker knows _I'm_ proud of me."

Shaking his head, Teagan placed a hand on Alistair's shoulder. "You overcame a great deal, Alistair. You did come back when it would have been easier to continue hiding in a bottle of ale, and you took your punishment with a great deal of dignity, from what Leonie told me. Given how badly you were treated as a boy, I'd say that's something to be proud of," Teagan said, his voice warm and kind.

"I should have stood up to Eamon when he sent you off to the monastery," Teagan continued before Alistair could say anything. "I should have visited you at the very least. It was always easier to follow Eamon, to take the path of least resistance. Those nights in Redcliffe, when Eamon lay unconscious, forced me to be my own man. I rather suspect you've gone through the same thing."

Alistair looked down at his feet and tried to understand what Teagan was saying and why. He had grown, he knew that as well, and he was happier than he'd been in a very long time. He had comrades, friends that accepted him, despite his past. He had a home again; a place where he truly felt welcomed and appreciated. He had Karlin, the prickliest little thing he'd ever met, but with a surprising tenderness in her. Not that she knew how he felt yet. But there was time, he knew that.

"I – I don't know what to say, Teagan. Thanks?" Alistair mumbled and then found himself grinning like an idiot.

"Don't thank me, dear boy. You did all the hard work," Teagan said with an amused laugh.

Teagan's arm fell to his side and he turned to leave. "Teagan? Is Eamon coming here to try and use me again?" Alistair asked, even though he knew the truth. Why else would Eamon be coming to the Vigil?

"Of course. Eamon believes only true Theirin blood should control the throne. Some would say it's an obsession."

"Some would be right. I won't do it, you know. Not this time. I'd like to think I'm strong enough not to be manipulated by him," Alistair said and he felt it, the strength of his determination like a hot spike in his blood, giving him courage.

"I'm glad to hear that Alistair. I love my brother, but his obsession has made him twisted and devious in ways that are not immediately apparent," Teagan replied with a hint of sadness.

"He may have wanted me on the throne, Teagan, but it wasn't for my blood. It was so he could manipulate me. His obsession isn't just for a Theirin on the throne. He wants the power as well."

Alistair didn't know how he knew that, he just knew it was true; a conviction that ran deep. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. It was time to face his biggest demon and slay it once and for all.

"I'll be there by your side, Alistair. After all this time, it's the very least I can do."

They walked out of the training room and outside to stand, side by side, watching the arrival of Arl Eamon Guerrin.


	49. Chapter 49

**A/N: **_Thank you all for your comments, PMs and for continuing to follow the story. For those who asked, Sigrun will be in the next chapter. I miss her too._

**Dancing with Demons**

Wearing her most professional demeanor, Leonie stood beside Alistair, watching Arl Eamon's arrival with an unruffled calm. Alistair shot her a grateful look as he stood between Teagan and Leonie. She smiled reassuringly at him, but sensed that he had a new confidence in himself. She doubted he truly needed her presence but she stayed where she was. As acting Arlessa, thanks to Loghain's high handedness, it was her duty to greet the arriving arl.

"Welcome to Vigil's Keep, Arl Eamon," she said when the older man dismounted. She dropped an abbreviated curtsey, an almost insultingly brief bob.

"Brother, I'm surprised to see you. Weren't you returning to Redcliffe when we last spoke?" Teagan asked with a hint of humor in his voice.

"I wanted to see Alistair for myself, to make sure the lad was doing as well as the Warden Commander's letter indicated. How are you, my boy?" Eamon asked with hearty bravado.

"Actually Arl Eamon, I am no longer the Commander of the Grey of Ferelden. Loghain Mac Tir, my husband, now holds that rank. I have resigned, you see. Oh, I suppose he is also the Arl of Amaranthine now, as well," Leonie said with false cheer. She opened her eyes very wide and gave him her most coquettish smile. She was sure that Loghain would tease her unmercifully for her antics but she was enjoying herself immensely.

Eamon's face turned a color not unlike the color of his beard. His eyes narrowed but immediately widened again and he plastered a smile on his face. He seemed to have developed a tic in his jaw; Leonie noticed it and bit the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing.

"Maker keep you both," he finally said although she was sure he wanted to say much more.

He turned to Alistair and said heartily, "Alistair, you look well, my boy."

Leonie could feel Alistair bristle and tense up at the greeting. "Arl Eamon," he greeted with less affability than Eamon had expected, Leonie thought, judging by the tightened mouth and expression on Eamon's lined face; a man sucking lemons if his expression was anything to go by. She bit back a smile.

"Please, come in, Arl Eamon, and accept our hospitality. We have a very full house at the moment so I am unable to provide the best room in the keep, but I am sure you understand. After all, how could you possibly know that Queen Anora, Arl Teagan and Teyrn Fergus would all arrive on the same day?"

Anyone who really knew Leonie knew there was irony and displeasure in the measure of her greeting; to anyone else it merely sounded like the gracious welcome expected of a noble. She smiled and motioned him inside with a sweep of her arm. He hesitated but common courtesy bade him enter.

"Thank you for your hospitality," Eamon began but Leonie waved his thanks away.

"Do not concern yourself with it, Arl Eamon. I am sure you have Alistair's best interests at heart and are just putting your mind at ease that everything is as I said in my letter, yes?" Leonie asked, oozing effusive Orlesian hospitality. She dared not look at Loghain lest she start laughing. As it was, the inside of her cheek was becoming sore where she was biting it.

"Yes, of course," Eamon said as she led him to her office. She was quite sure she heard Loghain snicker as he went to his own office.

"May I offer you some tea, Arl Eamon? I have some lovely Orlesian Orange or perhaps you would care for something a bit stronger? I am sure your ride has been most tiring."

Arl Eamon looked at his brother, some kind of message flashing in his eyes and then turned with a rather condescending smile to address Leonie. "I am sure you can appreciate the desire for a private family reunion," he said affably and Leonie widened her eyes again.

"Oh, but of course. How selfish of me to keep these two handsome men to myself. Shall I leave you three alone?" she asked, turning to look at Alistair.

"No, there's nothing Arl Eamon has to say to me that you can't hear," Alistair said and she wanted to cheer and clap him on the back for the calm and aloof tone his voice had taken on.

"I would miss your company, Leonie. Please do stay," Teagan chimed in. Leonie's eyes went to Teagan and she was quite sure he winked at her. She knew she winked at him.

Eamon was not pleased. He sat in a chair, jaw continuing to twitch but he kept a smile on his face. "It's good to see you, Alistair. You are looking very well."

"I am well, Arl Eamon. The Grey Wardens have been very good to me."

"Yes, I can see you're a changed man."

It was an unfortunate phrase, Leonie thought. She watched as Alistair leaned forward, his face hard, his voice uncompromising and sarcastic. "Yes, I'll bet you can. I'm not the insecure chantry boy, _Uncle_ Eamon," he began and then took a deep breath. Leonie watched as Teagan nodded quietly to Alistair, not in agreement but encouragingly.

"You made me into the man I _was_, Arl Eamon. I was so afraid of making a mistake that I couldn't make a decision. You made sure I always knew that without your guidance I was nothing; that I was unwanted by everyone except you.

"I always thought Isolde's jealousy was the reason you sent me to the monastery but it wasn't, was it? You let her believe I was your son, it gave you control over her, didn't it? By the time she knew the truth your control over her was complete. I don't know why I never saw it before. She's vain and shallow because she is insecure, because you made her that way. Just as you made me the man I _was_.

"The Grey Wardens made me into the man I _am_, Arl Eamon. The power you had over me is gone and if I never see you again, I will consider it a blessing. I won't be your puppet. Not now, not ever again. You can't manipulate me so don't try."

"How dare you!" Eamon exploded, standing up, his face contorted with his rage. "How dare you speak to me in such a manner!"

"How dare you speak to me at all," Alistair replied quietly.

Leonie was stunned by the strength in Alistair, the dignity in him. Here was a leader, a king in every sense of the word. She saw not just Maric in his demeanor, but also Duncan's quiet strength. She saw a man who had finally and fully come into his own and she was immeasurably proud of him.

Eamon was livid. He sputtered and his fist came down on the desk but his words were having trouble forming around the disbelief and anger in him. Teagan spoke up, "I think it's time you gave up, Brother. You've dishonored the Guerrin name enough."

Both Teagan and Alistair left a visibly shaken Eamon as they departed the room. Leonie stayed where she was. Eamon stare balefully at her. There was a viciousness in him now; a wounded animal ready to strike. She clasped her hands and smiled at him, not a triumphant smile but one that held pity in it.

"I have just a few words, Arl Eamon. I am recently returned from a trip to Ostagar, where I found a most curious letter. A letter you wrote to King Cailan, urging him to put aside Anora. I also have a letter from Empress Celene, indicating you and Cailan were negotiating a marriage agreement between Cailan and Celene. I wonder how the Landsmeet will view such a thing?"

Eamon's face, bright red with anger, paled visibly and his shoulders slumped at her news but he wasn't yet ready to admit defeat. "A letter easily manufactured by you. Do you think the Landsmeet will listen to anything you have to say? Your allegiance to Loghain, and thereby his daughter, is well known," he replied, his voice malignant, his look malevolent.

Leonie smiled again, her voice sweet and soft as she spoke, "Of course, as a loyal citizen of Ferelden, I felt it was my duty to return the letter to Queen Anora. She assures me that there are numerous examples of your writing in the public records. That should make verifying the authenticity of the letter quiet easy, I should imagine."

The fight went completely out of Eamon. He was just a pathetic old man now and Leonie felt another tug of pity for him. He had never understood what he'd had and now he had nothing. "I am sure the trip has been arduous, Arl Eamon. Shall I show you to your quarters?"

"Yes, please," he said quietly. He appeared to be in shock, almost docile now.

Leonie went to the door and found Varel there, waiting. "Ah, Varel, have Eamon's accommodations been prepared?"

"Just as you ordered, Arlessa Leonie."

"Excellent. Shall we, Arl Eamon?"

"Yes," the old arl replied in relief.

"Please follow me," she responded and, with a wink at Varel, she led Eamon through the great hall to the main doors of the Vigil. Opening them, she started out but Eamon balked.

"What is this? Where are you taking me?" he demanded, once more the haughty nobleman.

"To your room. Is that not what you wish?" she asked, blinking wide eyes innocently.

"Outside?" he asked in disbelief.

"Certainly not, Arl Eamon," she scoffed. Her smile grew brighter.

"Then where?"

"To the stables. Surely if they were good enough for the son of a king, they are good enough for the brother of a queen, yes?"

Twenty minutes later, Eamon Guerrin and his retinue departed Vigil's Keep.

* * *

Phillipe Delacroix finished packing and made his way down to Leonie's office. At her invitation, he entered and closed the door behind him, bowing slightly. He was ready for final instructions and to be on his way. Even he could see the sickness growing in her and he was afraid for her, afraid he wouldn't make it back in time.

Even as sick as she was, Leonie remained beautiful. The morning light filtering through the windows brushed soft color along her pale skin and highlighted the shine of her dark hair. He felt that hollow ache in his chest, the one that reminded him that he still loved her, however unrequited that love was. As much as he loved her, he wanted her to be happy and it was apparent to all that she was happy, or as happy as a dying woman could be.

"You must swear an oath that you will not take unnecessary risks, Phillipe. You must be careful, yes?"

"So you care for me even a little, Leonie?" he asked, trying to sound light but the wistfulness was there. He cleared his throat.

He watched as Leonie stood and moved to him, her lithe grace a thing of beauty, like watching a dancer move across a stage. She came to stand in front of him and her smile was as gentle as a mother's caress.

"Of course I care for you, Phillipe. You are a dear friend and I shall miss you."

He could not fail. He would not fail. His greatest fears would not be realized and he would beat the demons back barehanded if that's what it took to return quickly. He took her hand and brought it to his lips.

"It is my honor to champion your cause, Leonie Caron," he said, the words a formal farewell, exchanged between loved ones before one of them went off to war.

"It is my honor that you would do so, Phillipe Delacroix," she replied just as formally.

He studied her face carefully, saw the faint glimmer of unshed tears and knew that she did not expect to see him again. Without clear intention, he placed his hands on either side of her face and gently kissed her.

"Stay strong, my beautiful Lion," he whispered against the sweetness of her skin.

She wrapped her arms around him and held on to him briefly before stepping back and wiping her eyes. "Maker guide your steps, Phillipe," she responded.

Loghain met him on his way to his horse. Darius, having already said his good-byes, sat in his saddle, waiting quietly. "You have the map?"

Phillipe bit back a sarcastic reply. He was not the fool that Loghain liked to believe he was. Of course he had the map. He had the letter from Leonie to Celene. He had money. He had his weapons and his wits.

"Yes," he answered tersely. Loghain nodded, his eyes piercing into Phillipe.

"How long before we can expect you back?"

"Five days to Val Royeaux, a day there, three days to the Blasted Hills, two days there, possibly three and the return trip. I say a little less than three weeks," Phillipe responded.

"Faster if possible," Loghain said grimly. Loghain was a man who was dancing with his demons, Phillipe understood, looking into the man's wintery blue eyes.

He clapped Loghain's shoulder. "As fast as I can, Commander. You have my word."

Mounting, he wheeled his horse and gave spur to the lunging beast, hoping Darius could keep up. He had not come to Ferelden expecting to make a friend of Loghain Mac Tir and perhaps calling him a friend was an overstatement, but certainly he was no longer a mortal enemy. He doubted anyone in Val Royeaux would believe such a thing.

They boarded just before the sun sank into the turquoise blue of the ocean and the captain ordered them underway immediately. With favorable winds they might make Val Royeaux in under five days. He impressed upon the captain the urgency of their mission.

"As if the demons of the Fade are after you, Captain Florivel. That is how fast we must travel."

* * *

Fiona watched from the music gallery, deep in the shadows. Below her, enjoying a hearty meal, were the Ferelden Wardens and the nobles. She watched as they concluded their meal and began to knot up in small groups. Her eyes fell on Alistair, who was bending to hear what the Alienage elf was saying. It was obvious by his expression and body language that he cared for the girl. Fiona felt a tug of sympathy for Karlin as she watched the young woman looking with haughty disdain at Loghain. She saw herself in the young elf, remembered a pain she had spent a lifetime trying to forget.

Alistair and Karlin were heading for heartbreak; she could see it looming on their horizon like a rising sun shattered by storm clouds. Had she not given up all her rights to Alistair, she would be down there now, trying to warn them that a human and an elf pairing was nothing more than a lifetime of grief and sorrow for a few moments of joy.

Maric would scold her if he could hear her thoughts. He would chide her in that teasing way, with that magical smile that she had finally been unable to resist. A tear slipped unnoticed down her cheek as she watched Alistair throw his head back and laugh. Maker, he looked so much like Maric that it broke her heart.

She should have never stayed once she knew Alistair was at Vigil's Keep. She should have taken the next boat out of Ferelden, no matter the destination. The irony of the situation was not lost to her. Here she was watching her life, her past, play out before her very eyes and she had no right at all to do more than observe from the shadows. Another tear rolled down her cheek and more followed, blazing a trail of accusations as they fell.

_Forgive me Maric_. She had lain with him in the most horrific place in Thedas and it had been beautiful. He had been a good man, the only good man she had ever been with. She had been so tired of the pain, the awful aching pain and loneliness and he had erased it all, cleansed her spirit. He had given her Alistair, a precious gift. Her reasons for giving him away were sound, they had been then and they were now but it hurt deep in the places she had tried to destroy within her.

She owed the Grey Wardens so much. She had begged to join the Wardens, to escape her past and now it was in front of her. The harder she ran from it, the closer it came. Life's final, bitter irony. She had let them all down. Duncan had tried to reason with her, tried to get her to intervene when Alistair had been sent to the monastery and she had refused, believing his life would be better if she stayed out of it. It was true then. She was an elf, a mage, a Grey Warden and an Orlesian with nothing to offer a child. The Grey Wardens would have taken him away and if she had left the Wardens, she would have wound up with a human son in an Alienage. There was nothing else she could have done and for over twenty years she had lived with that.

Now, staring down at Alistair and Karlin, she wanted to cry out that Karlin wasn't good enough for him, that he was the son of a king, but that too was an irony. Fiona didn't believe Karlin was good enough for her son? Her laugh was low and bitter, a harsh whisper of reflected pain. She was the one who was not good enough for her son. She had no rights to him, she never had. She could pretend that Karlin wasn't good enough but the truth was screaming at her in her chest, making it hard to breathe as she watched them.

The tears were falling in earnest now, a steady stream of recriminations. She had become so many of the things she had despised; blind to the suffering of others, all too willing to believe whatever Weisshaupt told her; all too willing to do their bidding. She had even less to offer Alistair now than she had when he was a newborn. She touched her cheeks, marveling at the heat of her tears, unable at first to remember when she had last cried. And then it came back to her, so sharp and painful that she must surely be bleeding.

Years ago in Weisshaupt. Leonie had reached through Fiona's bitterness and touched her heart, had believed in the goodness that Fiona had locked away so many years earlier; Leonie, who had led a coup to depose a madman in Weisshaupt and nearly died doing so. Fiona's eyes sought out Leonie. Standing beside her husband, talking with Anders and Aura, leaning forward to touch Aura's round stomach, her smile bright but tinged with sadness.

Fiona turned and made her way back to her room, her tears still falling.

* * *

Avernus summoned Loghain and Leonie to the laboratory after dinner. Leonie was smiling at Loghain's ire. "Presumptuous old ghoul," he rumbled as they made their way up the stairs to the third floor.

"Such an ego you have, Loghain," she teased, grinning up at her taciturn general.

"I most certainly do not," he replied with a cold dignity that made her grin turn into a chuckle. He cast a glare in her direction. Her chuckle became a laugh.

"Of course not, husband. You are the most unassuming man ever to walk Thedas," she agreed when her voice was once again under control. She pulled him to a stop and reached up to kiss him. "And I love you, ego and all," she added before continuing on.

Avernus was stirring something in a glass beaker that looked very much like blood. Leonie's good humor evaporated and she felt a nervous tremor go through her. Loghain's grip on her hand tightened reassuringly.

"Ah, good. I have prepared an alchemical concoction that will add power and longevity to Wardens. Phindar drank it, claimed he could actually feel the taint slow down. Of course he was an elf and they can be a bit melodramatic," the old man added. Fiona was not in the room but Leonie found herself offended by his bigoted remark.

"Why did you not send this on to Weisshaupt?" Leonie asked suspicisouly.

"Phindar sent the information to Weisshaupt, or so he led me to believe. I didn't think to check up on him," the old mage replied facetiously.

Loghain and Leonie exchanged looks. Why hadn't they been told? Why hadn't other Wardens known? Did Alistair know? Did Fiona? All those questions and more passed unspoken between them in the space of a heartbeat.

"I suggest you take it, Loghain. You're taint is toxic at your age," Avernus added snidely.

Leonie, remembering their earlier discussion of his ego, bit back a snicker when Loghain bristled at the remark. But her snicker died quickly when he shook his head. "Loghain, do not be stubborn. Avernus is correct. Your body will not be able to fight the taint for many years. It is not an insult to your age, it is a fact that your body does not fight it well as you age."

"It has nothing to do with that. I won't drink that until something had been done to slow your taint."

Leonie frowned, thinking that was a noble but unnecessary gesture and then it hit her. She sat down abruptly in a chair. He didn't care about prolonging his life if she died.

"Avernus, out," she said calmly and when he started to protest she shot him a hard look. "I said out," she commanded coldly. He made a pithy remark about the impatience of youth but Leonie wasn't listening.

"Loghain Mac Tir, you will not do this," she said as soon as they were alone. "You will not sacrifice your life if I die. I will not allow it," she continued, her voice dangerously low and vibrating with anger.

"Leonie," he began, his voice a gentle chastisement, but she put her fingers against his mouth to stop him.

"I will not listen to any argument you might have on this subject, Loghain. If you do not want to do it for your sake, do it for Anora's. Do it for the future grandchildren you will have. Do it because you have much still to offer the world," she said, her voice shaking with unshed tears. "Do it for me because I will not be the reason you refuse to drink it."

"Damn it, Leonie, why must you argue with everything I say?" Loghain snarled impatiently.

"I do not argue with everything you say," Leonie argued. "Only when you are wrong do I do such a thing."

They stared at each other, angry dark blue eyes boring into light blue eyes, both implacable, both unyielding. A minute passed and then another. Still neither backed down. Leonie was furious and terrified and heartbroken and she would not back down, she would not allow him to make such an irrational decision. She searched for a compromise.

"I will drink it too. Perhaps it will help, at least a little, yes?" she finally said to break the stalemate.

"Do we trust the old reprobate?"

"Do we have a choice?" she countered. "If it will make you more comfortable with the idea, we can talk to Alistair but I do not think Avernus would lie about this. He seems, despite his depravities, to be a man of honor."

Loghain snorted at that. "Depraved honor?" he asked derisively.

"Even wicked people have their honor, especially when their reputation is at stake."

Loghain stared at her, looking, she suspected, for any sign that she was unsure. Or perhaps he didn't believe she would actually drink it once he had. She raised her chin a bit, tilting her head defiantly. "If you do not believe me, I shall drink first, yes?" she said testily.

Loghain sighed, looking both irritated and relieved. She took a deep breath and called out for Avernus. "We shall both take this and should it prove successful I will ask that you prepare it for any other Warden who wishes to take it."

Avernus snorted. "You won't reap much benefit from it," he warned her but Leonie didn't really care. If drinking it meant Loghain would also drink it, she would do it without any benefit at all.

Avernus poured a small amount into a cup and handed it to Leonie. She glanced at Loghain, hoping he could see her love for him before she closed her eyes and drank the dark mixture.

Pain wracked her body and she found herself sliding off the chair to clutch at her stomach as she sat on the floor. A loud screech filled her ears, pounded at her closed lids, coursed hotly through her veins. She fought it, just as she had fought the taint at her first Joining, her body screaming to overcome the pain. She shuddered and gagged and felt the world tip precariously, felt herself falling headlong into an abyss. And then, just as she was sure the pain and darkness would overcome her, it eased and she blinked, slightly dizzy. Loghain raised an inquiring brow at her.

"I am well, Loghain. Be prepared. It feels very similar to the Joining," she warned and he nodded, sitting on the floor beside her as Avernus handed him the cup.

Leonie watched in relief as he drank. She could tell the second he felt the effects and she held his hand tightly in hers. He growled a low and guttural sound, his body going rigid as it fought the newly introduced taint. His eyes closed and his head lowered, chin resting on his chest, his breathing labored. She would not let go of his hand, even though his grip felt as though it was crushing the small bones in her fingers. Another shudder, a long groan of pain and then his eyes snapped open.

"You'll die of old age, not your Calling," Avernus bragged, his grin carnivorous.

She could feel the change in Loghain's taint almost immediately, as if the new taint had softened the old. It was gentler, calmer. She sighed with relief and when he asked her if she felt any change in her own taint, she smiled. "No, but perhaps it will take more time as I have been tainted far longer," she reassured.

Leonie's dreams that night were troubled and neither Loghain nor Travis could find her in the Dreamscape.


	50. Chapter 50

**Transitions**

Fergus stared moodily at Nathaniel and reached up to adjust his eye patch once again. How could he so easily forgive and trust Nate? It seemed wrong, as if he was dishonoring his family. Even knowing that Nate had not been responsible, he should not have been so quick to rekindle the friendship. But Nate was not his father. He never had been.

Part of the problem, he knew, was how lonely he was. How desperate he was to have noise in his life again. The long hours at home, working on the repairs to the castle, trying to keep the accounts straight, were all accompanied by the sound of silence. Nobody talked to him, nobody laughed with him. Nobody felt comfortable being around him.

Maker, he missed the sound of Oren running through the halls shouting with glee as Elissa chased him while she roared like a dragon. He missed his father's calm voice explaining why they should always be good stewards of both the land and its people. He missed his mother's constant lovingly induced nagging about his duties and responsibilities. He missed Oriana and her sweetly accented voice whispering to him at night. He missed Elissa teasing him beyond normal limits and laughing with him over private jokes that were left over from their childhood.

He hadn't been in love with Oriana when they married but he had loved her. They hadn't had much in common but they learned to build on what they did have in common and in the years they had together they had become very close. He missed her steadying influence. He missed her quirky humor. He missed the smell of her.

Oren had been such a spunky character, a perfect blend of both Oriana and him. He had a head full of questions and a need to explore the world in all its many facets. He laughed easily, cried rarely and had a fierceness that spoke of the Cousland blood. Fergus felt that sharp pang of guilt that he felt whenever he remembered his son and those chillingly prophetic words he'd spoken to his son their last night together. Why had he said anything about seeing a sword up close soon? Maker, he wished that he could forget that one thing. He rubbed his hand across his forehead. Just that one thing. It gnawed at him constantly, taking small, continual bites from him, making it almost impossible for him to move on.

"Fergus? Are you well?"

He blinked, looking down at Anora in surprise, so lost in memories he hadn't heard her approach.

"Fine, Anora. Just tired," he lied. And really, it wasn't a lie, he told himself.

"You never were a proficient liar," she remarked with a glimmer of a smile.

"I see you're as straightforward as always."

"I actually came to say good-bye. I'm returning to Denerim now that I know Alistair has grown a backbone and Eamon has been neutered."

Fergus threw his head back, laughing. "I still can't believe she was going to put Eamon in the stables. If anyone can keep your father out of politics and out of trouble, it's Leonie," he chuckled.

Realizing what he'd said, Fergus threw her an apologetic smile. "You know what I mean."

Anora chuckled dryly. "You accuse _me_ of being straightforward?"

They stood for a moment, friends basking in the warmth of an early spring morning. Fergus felt the grief and guilt shift in him, the hard knot of it easing just a bit. He started to tell her to stay, that he enjoyed her company, but held his tongue. Soon, he thought, soon he'd be ready to say those things. For now it was enough to finally feel them again.

* * *

Sigrun eyed the small container of seeds suspiciously. "Do I eat them?" she asked Leonie. "Like dried pumpkin seeds?"

Leonie bit back a smile. "No, you plant them," she explained to the dwarf. "First you plant them in small containers until they begin to grow, then you transplant them into the ground and from them will grow flowers."

"Huh," Sigrun grunted, weighing the packet carefully in her hand. "Flowers from these little bitty things?" she asked, disbelieving.

"Yes, my friend. Dozens of them," Leonie reassured her.

They were standing in Sigrun's room and Leonie glanced around. There were so many unique, bright objects in the dwarf's room. A spyglass, a globe that created a blizzard when it was shaken, a brass vase with a silk flower in it, a very dejected looking potted plant. There were no window coverings and the bed had been pushed up against the window. Leonie could imagine the dwarf staring out at the night sky. There was very little about the surface world that Sigrun disliked. She was childlike in her exploration of her new home.

"So what do I have to do with them?" Sigrun asked, her blue eyes bright with curiosity as she held on the dark brown seeds.

"We start them in little pots of dirt and when it is warm we find a place out in the gardens to plant them in the ground and each year they will come back," Leonie explained, remembering her own sorry attempts at gardening and the ruined roses in Jader from her inexpert attention. No need to tell Sigrun she was not an especially good gardener, she thought wryly.

"I think perhaps we shall have to ask Samuel for assistance, yes?"

Sigrun looked at her, serious and intense. "This is your way of saying good-bye, isn't it?"

Leonie frowned. "Not at all, Sigrun. I brought these back from Denerim but have not had time to give them to you."

Sigrun shut her door and leaned against it frowning, an uncharacteristically hard expression on the young dwarf's face. "You think I don't know what you're doing?"

Leonie smiled in confusion. "I do not understand, Sigrun?"

"Sure you do, Lion. You're giving up. I saw you give Anders that gold earring. And Aura the blankets and stuff for the baby. You're giving all your stuff away because you're giving up," Sigrun said and the dwarf's wide blue eyes flooded with tears. "You're just slipping away."

"No, no, Sigrun. I am not giving up anything. Truly, it is as I say. I bought all these gifts in Denerim but things have been so hectic since then. Now that we wait for Phillipe and Darius to return, I have time for such things, yes?"

Leonie wrapped her arms around her friend and hugged her tightly. "You will tire of me long before I die, my friend." Neither of them believed it but it was a comforting thought.

Sigrun sniffed and wiped her tears away with the back of her hand. "Sorry, I'm just - it's just that I stayed because of you, Lion, and if you go away I'm not sure I'll stay."

"Sigrun, your oath is to the Grey Wardens, not to me."

"Ancestor's hairy ass, Lion, you _are _the Grey Wardens!" Sigrun exclaimed.

Leonie was stunned by Sigrun's words and the emotion behind them. "I am sure there are any number of people who would disagree with that sentiment, Sigrun, but I thank you for it," Leonie managed around the lump of emotion in her throat.

"I am sorry for sending Darius away. I know you two are becoming close," she added to change the subject.

Sigrun's laughter filled every corner of her room, as bright as sunshine, her gloom gone in a flash. "Oh wow, do you ever have that wrong. I mean, sure, we're close but not like that. I'm not his type," she said, wiping away tears before going into fresh gales of laughter.

"Oh, I cannot imagine such a thing. You are lively and lovely and intelligent. He would be a fool not to appreciate you," Leonie said indignantly. "Or blind."

"Oh we're friends, just not, you know, _friends_," Sigrun replied with a perky smile.

"Because you are a dwarf?" Leonie asked, genuinely curious how anyone could not love Sigrun.

"Nah, got nothing to do with that."

"Because you are casteless?" Leonie asked, determined now to discover the reason and speak with Darius upon his return about unfounded prejudices.

Sigrun's smile grew. "Nah. He doesn't care about stuff like that."

"Maker's breath, Sigrun, what is it?" Leonie finally asked, sitting on the edge of Sigrun's bed and waiting for some terrible revelation about why Darius wasn't attracted to Sigrun.

"I'm not his type. No _female_ is," Sigrun explained.

"Oh," Leonie said, feeling foolish for not having realized that earlier. One more reason Darius might have left his clan. Dalish weren't opposed to such relationships as long as the men were willing to beget children with women in the clan, to keep the numbers of the Dalish growing each year. As a very proud and honorable man, Darius might have felt that would be unfair to the woman involved and any male partner he was with.

"So, shall we plant those seeds?"

"Sure, but you'd better be here to pick them when they bloom," Sigrun instructed and then grinned brightly.

"Say, any chance you can put in a good word about me to Ser Cluck?"

Leonie stopped mid way to the door and turned to look at Sigrun, who was still grinning like a child experiencing her first sweetmeat. Leonie couldn't help the answering grin that spread with happy grace across her face.

"I shall endeavor to do so the next time I see Travis," she replied. "But be warned, Sigrun, he is still mourning the loss of his chosen mate and his is a very different culture than ours," she finished, her concern for Sigrun evident.

"Ah, Lion, there's the challenge, isn't it? And besides, he's the right height!" Sigrun chirped.

A short time later found them in the garden shed with Samuel, who was looking for pots and explaining the need for daily watering. After he was gone, Sigrun turned to look at Leonie, a mischievous grin flirting with her lips. "Would you really have made the arl sleep in the stables?"

Leonie had been asked that question by a number of the others and had simply smiled enigmatically in way of an answer. "Yes, Sigrun, I would have. But in my defense, I did have new hay put down in the event he decided to stay."

"Wow, thoughtful and evil all at the same time. You are my kind of people," Sigrun said as they continued planting seeds in the small clay pots Samuel had given them.

Several minutes of quiet passed before Leonie stopped and looked at Sigrun thoughtfully. "Do you think that your brother would come to the Vigil?"

Sigrun met her eyes, a hopeful gleam in hers. "Stig? Sure, if he had the money."

"Would you wish to travel to Orzammar to help him move here?"

Sigrun paused, her expression uncharacteristically shuttered . Finally she shook her head. "I don't have any desire to see those stone forsaken bastards back in Orzammar," she replied, brushing the dirt from her hands. "But I am going to have him bring a nug or two. I miss them."

"You want a nug for a pet?" Leonie asked in surprise. Sigrun howled.

"Do I strike you as the pet type? Do I even _like _Ser Pounce?"

"Then why would you want him to bring – oh! Please do not ask me to eat roasted nug," Leonie begged.

"Bah, you don't know what's good, you with your fancy sauces and such. Nug tastes just like chicken. Only better."

Leonie snickered. "Or like really gamey rabbit cooked in something very bitter, like lichen ale."

"Okay, those are fighting words, Lion! Lichen ale is not bitter."

Leonie snorted. "Please, Sigrun, have you actually tasted it? And the smell; a combination of sweat, dirt, pepper, and crushed stone."

"What and your wine tastes great? Rotten grapes. What's not to love about _that_ taste?"

Both women were laughing as they made their way back to the Vigil. For Leonie it truly was as if the sunshine had broken through the clouds as she listened to Sigrun's good-natured teasing. It was the most she had laughed in a long time.

* * *

The Vigil was remarkably quiet. The queen had left and taken Teagan with her, but not before he elicited a promise from Nemishia that she would write him. Fergus was leaving in the morning and had retired to his rooms early. Loghain was meeting with Fiona and Avernus to discuss the new Joining, which Ewan and Enoch had undertaken. They had received the taint with very mild side effects.

Leonie was hopeful that a new breed of Wardens would arise from the new Joining, ones who lived longer, were more powerful, but who knew that their mission was dictated by the taint in their blood and not the machinations or politics of a nation or Weisshaupt. She was still, after everything that had happened, an optimist. She had ordered the formula copied for each Warden Commander in Thedas and prepared a letter describing in detail what she had discovered about her own taint, which was not much, but she had faith that Phillipe and Darius would return with even more information. She also thought Fiona might finally be ready to tell the truth.

Leonie sat on the battlements, watching the sun sink tiredly into the ever growing twilight, her feet dangling over the edge. The wind awoke, as if to help blow the sun into the darkness and it brushed light fingers along her skin, bringing with it the pungent smell of pine and salt spray and spring. It would not be long before Aura and Delilah had their babies and then there would be two weddings. She hoped she would live to see it all.

They were waiting for her to decide when she would undergo the electrical treatment, as Avernus ghoulishly called it. Travis wanted her to wait for Phillipe and Darius to return if possible. Loghain was afraid if she waited much longer she would not survive. She had discovered two new patches of the taint on her skin earlier in the day and there were times when the sound of the darkspawn calling to her was the only thing she heard.

"You don't think to jump, I trust?" Loghain asked quietly, coming to stand behind her. She laughed lightly.

"I do not. Do you wish to push me?" she asked in response.

"And have you make a mess on the paving stones? Varel would have my head," Loghain snorted. He offered her a hand and she took it, standing.

"Will you think ill of me if I confess that I miss our battling darkspawn together? I do not know how to be anything other than a warrior," she admitted, slipping an arm around his waist. "All this quiet, this waiting, is not something I enjoy."

Loghain pulled her closer and stood looking at the gathering dusk. Long tendrils of violet and indigo began to stretch across the sky, limned in marmalade by the golden sun riding low in the west. Leonie breathed in the cooling air and felt a growing sense of peace inside her.

"I think I can understand that sentiment better than most," he said quietly.

"I do not think I can wait much longer for this treatment that Avernus offers."

"I know."

She turned to take his face in her hands, staring into his eyes. "I love you. I will not stop fighting but you must let me go if it comes to that. You must," she added, kissing him softly.

Loghain made a low sound, a hum of disapproval. "You don't get to dictate that, Leonie. I will decide what I must do, not you."

Instead of arguing, she rested her forehead against his. "I cannot imagine anyone ever dictating anything to you, husband," she replied with a growing smile. "Now, if you are of a mind, will you take me to bed?"

Loghain was of a mind.

* * *

Anders woke up with a start, a swimmer coming up for air. Aura stood beside his bed, her hand gentle on his shoulder. "I think it's time," she whispered as if she might wake someone. The only other occupant of the room was Ser Pounce, who was not about to be disturbed from his comfortable spot.

"Time for what?" Anders asked, his eyes drifting shut again.

"The baby," Aura said calmly. "I think the baby is coming."

Anders leapt from the bed, grabbing his robes and slipping his feet into his shoes. "Alright, that's good. How do you feel? No, stupid question. We need to go to bed. No, I mean, you need to go lie down. I'll get Lion."

Anders was flying down the hallway shouting for Lion. Calm. He needed to be calm. He was calm. He was a Spirit Healer. He was a mage. He was calm.

"Lion!" he yelled, pounding on her door. Loghain opened the door and glared at him.

"What do you want, mage?" he rumbled and Anders had a moment of sheer panic when he couldn't remember what he was doing there.

"Anders?" Leonie asked in between yawns. "Is someone hurt?" she asked in her quiet commander's voice. That settled Anders down.

"It's Aura. The baby is coming," Anders said, amazed at how calm he suddenly felt.

"I shall be right there. Loghain, have the cook make a pot of chamomile tea. It will be a very long night."

Anders returned to his room, gathered his kit and went down to Aura's room. She was sitting up in the bed, wearing a white bed gown and grimacing. He saw her stomach contort and contract and he placed a soothing hand on her, sending a cool and refreshing rejuvenation spell through her. She smiled nervously at him, her eyes large in her pale face.

"No need to worry, my dear lady," he said with a reassuring smile.

Leonie arrived a few minutes later, brisk and cheerful. "Good evening, Aura. I have heard that chamomile tea is quite beneficial during this time," she said, smiling calmly.

Bless Lion, Anders thought, taking a deep breath. He had only delivered one other baby and that had been during an escape attempt. It had cost him his freedom but he had never forgotten the experience of seeing a new life come into the world. A little girl with a fuzzy halo of red hair. He could do this.

There were the usual questions to ask, he remembered that much from his training. How long had the pains been coming? How far apart were they? He could do this. He took a deep breath and flashed a grin at Aura. "Ready for motherhood?"

"I'm not sure but the baby definitely…" Aura broke off, sweat beading and her groan of pain louder than the last.

"I have to, well…I suppose Leonie could if you would rather…but I really should just in…" he began babbling. _Andraste's flaming knickers, calm down! _He took several shuddering breaths and met Aura's steady gaze.

"I have to examine you, Aura. It will be personal and uncomfortable," he said crisply. "Leonie, I want you to hold her shoulders," he instructed.

Everything was progressing as it should, he was almost certain. But he had forgotten how long labor lasted. The night rolled into dawn and then the sky outside Aura's window went from dark grey to pearly grey to pale pink. Aura was exhausted and he sent a rejuvenating spell into her. Time crawled along and each contraction became steadily harder and longer.

The sun rose in a powder blue sky. Aura's moans and panting grew louder. Leonie used a cool cloth to bathe Aura's face. She told Aura tales of Jader and even managed to get Aura to laugh several times.

"Do you remember the bake shop on the corner? The one with the pink door? They made the most delicious turnovers, so light and puffy. What was the name of that place? You remember the proprietors, yes? He was as tall as a tree and she was as short as a bulldog. In fact she resembled a bulldog. With a mustache."

"Filene's Fine Confections. Jules and Janine Filene," Aura said when she had stopped laughing. Anders watched the two women and any tension and nerves he felt withered and died.

"Alright ladies, it's time. Leonie, if you would? Aura, when you feel you need to bear down, do it. I'll just stand down here and catch the baby," Anders teased, feeling the stress gather between his shoulders again.

Aura gripped her knees and tried to pull herself up and Leonie, who had moved to sit behind Aura on the bed and hold her shoulders, helped her sit up.

"I need to…Andraste save me…" Aura began and howled in pain. Leonie murmured encouragement and didn't cry out when Aura's fingers curled around Leonie's legs hard enough to draw blood. Aura let out a blood curdling scream. Anders didn't have time to cast a healing spell on Leonie, he was busy doing what he could to help ease Aura's pain.

She screamed again, her face glistening with sweat and turning red with her efforts. Leonie was holding her steady, whispering Orlesian words of comfort or encouragement and Aura was responding in a voice that was ragged with exhaustion. Her words didn't sound all that polite but he wasn't going to ask what she was saying, not after seeing the bloody welts on Leonie's legs.

"Come on, Aura, push harder, you're almost done," Anders encouraged and his heart seemed to grow in his chest as the head crowned. He reached down and let his magic enfold mother and child. "Push, push, push," he instructed, helping turn the baby and with a long, undulating stream of Orlesian, the baby's shoulders were through. He reached out and began to massage Aura's abdomen and help her bear down for the last little bit. Leonie was already edging out from behind Aura and propping her up on pillows.

Everything happened quickly after that and before he knew it, Aura and her daughter were cleaned and wrapped up in warm blankets together and Leonie was leaving them alone with a kiss for each of them.

"Anders, meet Mirabelle," Aura said tiredly, her smile glorious and serene. She held out a hand to him. Anders took it and carefully climbed onto the bed beside them. His family. His. He couldn't understand how he had gotten so lucky, he only knew, beholding mother and child, that he was incredibly so.

He was asleep moments later.

* * *

Loghain went looking for Leonie as soon as he heard the news of the birth, suspecting she would be happy for Aura but melancholy at her own inability to conceive. He went first to the battlements. Only a lone bird, a bright blue bird whistling gaily greeted him. He stared at it for a long moment and then turned away, going in search of Leonie.

He found her in their quarters in the bathtub. She was scrubbing furiously at her arm, tears streaming down her face in silent misery. Without looking at him she continued scrubbing at the grey patches of taint now dotting the length of her arm. Over a dozen. Loghain felt a physical pain in his chest, twisting and hot.

They were out of time.

**A/N:** _In shamanism, a bluebird is a bird of transition, of passage-from winter to summer, from child to adult, night to day, barrenness to fertility_.


	51. Chapter 51

**A/N:** _I know this chapter is short and dark, but it is a necessary step for the final few chapters of the story. Thank you for your continuing encouragement and support, it means the world to me._

**The Space Between Stars**

Loghain had finally fallen asleep and Leonie slipped quietly out of bed and padded into the other room, gathering her wrapper and a blanket on her way. A few moments later found her on the battlements staring at the night sky. There were so many stars spilling across the endless black and each one a wish according to Freya. Her heart stuttered at the thought of Freya. She missed her old friend and the best cook in all of Orlais.

Leonie's mind was filled with the people who had touched her life, who had helped shape her. Had she remembered to thank them? Had she shown them how much they had helped? Who would take care of Loghain if she died? Would he fall back into his bitter and acerbic ways? She tried to still the thoughts, to push them out of her head. She had promised to fight, to hang on to the belief that she would survive the ordeal. She wanted to believe in the happily ever after, even knowing it seemed impossible.

"Hello, little one. Shouldn't you be sleeping?" Travis asked, coming to place a steadying hand on her arm.

"Sleep seems an unsafe place at the moment," she replied honestly. The nightmares were there, waiting to take control of her, to pull her into the Deep Roads to answer the Calling that grew ever more intense in her blood.

Travis stared out at the vast night sky. "Our tribe believes that the spirit travels to the space between stars where time stretches out in every direction. The spirit is renewed there and returns to our world in a new form, taking with it all it has learned, becoming stronger and wiser. A spirit can't die, only the body is frail. The spirit is resilient."

Leonie stared up at the stars and then focused on the black emptiness between the stars. "It is a lovely thought, Travis. Do they – can they come back to their old life?" she asked hopefully.

Travis clucked softly, almost a chuckle. "Going back to their old life defeats the purpose of becoming stronger and wiser. We're all teachers, Lion. What we teach and how we teach is up to each person and their own experiences."

"I am not afraid of dying, I am afraid for Loghain and I – I would wish to spend more time with him."

Travis whistled softly and Leonie heard the beating of wings in the night sky. She strained in the dark to see the bird but couldn't. A low, sweet song sounded. The Whippoorwill. She found herself smiling at the memory of a night spent traveling on the road, when Loghain had first allowed himself to acknowledge his own feelings for her.

"You will take care of him, yes?"

"We'll all take care of each other, Lion. That's what we are meant to do, that's how we both teach and learn, by caring for others," Travis rebuked gently. "You forget that too easily.

"Now, look at the space between stars. Focus on it. Use it when the time comes," Travis instructed.

Leonie stared intently at the night sky, concentrating on the darkness that lay between myriad stars. "Use it how?" she asked finally, blinking. But Travis had departed as quietly as he had arrived.

Leonie made her way back to bed and rather than curl up against Loghain, she took him into her arms and let him rest there, his breath warm and comforting on her skin. He nestled into her, murmuring sleepy words of love and Leonie was finally able to sleep.

* * *

Leonie insisted that Loghain not tell the others what she was allowing Avernus to do. She didn't want the emotional outcry that telling them would create. She didn't want to have emotional farewells because it seemed too much like she was giving up, she claimed.

"Then you'd better wake up ready for their wrath at being left in the dark," Loghain told her sternly.

He was afraid. She seemed much calmer than she had the night before and as they entered the laboratory, he had the urge to grab her hand and run. Not that he was the running type and not that he knew precisely where they'd run to, but he had to wrestle with the urge. As if sensing it, Leonie leaned up and kissed him lightly, her hands gentle as they grasped his face. He leaned his forehead against hers, tried to borrow some of her strength and courage.

Travis appeared in the doorway and came to stand beside Jarren, who was busy following the instructions Avernus was issuing. Loghain almost balked when he saw the restraints.

"You don't want her to fall on the floor and hurt herself, do you?" Avernus asked with a grim smile.

Loghain's hand tightened on Leonie's arm as the mental pictures began to develop of her flailing or worse yet writhing in pain. He gritted his teeth. He wouldn't show his revulsion for the old ghoul or his terror for Leonie, not while she was standing strong, her resolve shining in her eyes. He would not allow himself to show his own fear.

When she was on the table, restrained and still strangely calm, Avernus bent down with a cloth covered piece of wood. "Bite down on this. I discovered that one can bite one's tongue off during the procedure."

Leonie paled and her eyes went searching for Loghain's. He came and rested his hand on hers. "I'm here, Leonie," he told her reassuringly but still he fought the urge to grab her and run. He couldn't stomach the thought of the pain she was feeling or the pain she was about to feel.

Travis came to stand beside Loghain. A wash of relief went through Loghain and he shot a grateful look at his friend. Leonie smiled and then nodded to Avernus that she was ready.

"Step away unless you want to be knocked back during the procedure," Avernus said with a crackling chuckle.

Loghain's disgust for the mage showed plainly on his face, he was sure. He didn't really give a damn. He would make sure if this didn't work that Avernus's unnaturally long life would cease. The thought was the only comfort he found in the situation.

Leonie nodded, trying to smile around the piece of wood in her mouth, and her eyes held a message to have faith. He found faith a tenuous, contrary thing at best but he nodded back, hoping he looked more reassuring than he felt.

Avernus whispered some last minute instructions to Jarren who nodded. The younger mage's face creased in concentration. Avernus made a small cut on Leonie's arm and then closed his eyes. They would use her own blood to fuel the procedure, much to Loghain's' disgust. Silence, thick with accusation, settled over the room. Loghain's impatience curled thickly in his blood, wrapped in anxiety. The longer they waited the more tempted he was to stop the entire thing.

The silence was broken when both mages began to chant in a language that was unfamiliar to Loghain. His heart pumped painfully within his chest as they prepared to send their magic into Leonie.

The first bolts hit her and arced along her skin. Her body jerked and arched, her eyes wide and wild with the shock of it. He tried to remember to breathe, to whisper words of encouragement to her but his tongue seemed to be stuck to the roof of his mouth. He wanted to reach out and strangle the old mage.

Magic, electricity and fear danced in the air around them as another jolt sent Leonie's body into spasms. Her eyes rolled back in her head until Loghain saw only the whites of them and for the first time in his life, he felt his stomach heaving at the sight of her body twisting against the restraints. He opened his mouth to halt the procedure but Travis laid a restraining hand on his arm.

Another jolt so strong Leonie nearly broke the bonds that held her as the electricity crept along her skin and then with a long sighing breath, she fell still. The piece of wood made a sickening thud as it hit the floor.

Loghain couldn't breathe, couldn't think, couldn't do anything and then he was there, untying the restraints and gathering her into his arms. "Do something!" he thundered at Avernus who, pale and exhausted, shook his head.

"I warned her it was dangerous," the old mage said, querulous and cantankerous.

Loghain held her, rocking her, his head screaming. Her eyes were wide and sightless, she was limp and unresponsive. A knife stabbed into his gut and twisted. He heard the sound of someone crying out in a voice that was raw and ragged with unspeakable grief. His voice, echoing in the sudden silence, demanding she return to him but her body was lifeless in his arms.

She was gone.

* * *

Leonie felt the first spell slice into her. She could feel her blood dancing in her veins, singing in outrage, burning in anger. She could feel each drop of blood in her body, rising up as one to protest. In all her fighting, in all her entire life, she had never experienced pain of that magnitude.

The second jolt caused the blood to howl, an exquisite bloom of pain that blossomed until it enveloped her entire being with hot red agony. Voices, a thousand strong at least, called to her, promising an end to the pain. She twisted, trying to escape them, trying to escape the pain but she could not.

The third jolt wracked her with pain as every muscle jumped and snapped. Her mind was shrieking and begging for mercy. Her blood let out a long gasping plea and just when she was sure she would go mad from the pain, everything ceased...

_She looked down at Loghain, holding her and crying out. She wanted to tell him it was alright, that the terrible beauty of the song had stopped, that the pain had stopped, but she couldn't. She looked above her and saw countless stars swimming in the inky night sky. She was being pulled to the darkness and she didn't fight it. A peace grew within her, a boundless ecstasy, a blissful feeling that brought an incandescent joy to her. She floated, drifting for hours, for days, reveling in the absolute silence that engulfed her. Her thoughts were soft memories. _

_They were waiting. As many stars as were in the sky so too were those who waited for her. They reached out and received her lovingly, their hideous faces softened by their happiness at her arrival and she understood and tried not to be afraid. _

"_Hear us, leader. Feel our betrayal," one spoke, his lipless mouth bent and twisted in pain. Hideously beautiful, grotesquely macabre, piteous creatures._

"_How are you betrayed? Tell me that I may correct it," she pleaded, feeling their anguish as her own, feeling their betrayal as her own._

"_They said they would come back for us. They said our sacrifice would not be forgotten. In war, victory. In peace, vigilance. In death, sacrifice. They lied."_

"_You are Grey Wardens? All of you?" she asked, shocked, the first fissures forming in her serenity._

_A mirthless laugh, swelling among the thousands that gathered in the darkness, in the space between stars, reverberating through the darkness to fall into the emptiness._

"_We are the Dark Stewards, those that were created to fight for mankind. A weapon that would defeat Tevinter's blood mages. An experiment. They betrayed us and now we fight them, we awaken the ancient gods to fight our betrayers, to destroy them for destroying us. _

"_Our song. Our rage. Retribution. Revenge. Priditio. Ultionis. Cruor. Man is damned." _

"_I am not your leader, I am not a savior. I do not know how to help you."_

"_Your blood sings to us, guides us. You will bring about peace."_

"_No, I cannot. I am no more."_

"_They told us to listen for the blood that sings to us and there would lay our salvation. Our cure. You are a messenger. Your blood sings, as only a few others have before you. You are the savior."_

"_No, I am not, it was an accident of birth, nothing more," she whispered, grief trying to pull away her peace. _

"_He who came before you tried to help. He created hope. When he died, you became that hope. Use his work. Find the truth."_

_She was drifting again and their voices became distant and soft against the growing sound of stars singing in the ocean of night. A light, golden white in the depth of the impenetrable darkness, beckoned her and she found herself floating toward it, welcoming its presence. As she neared it, she saw in it a woman she recognized._

"_Nemishia?"_

"_I am Cerida, Lion. I am in the space between stars, healing. As are you it would seem."_

_She shook her head, marveling at the beauty of the darkness, the beauty of the golden light before her. She had no desire to leave. She was still trying to understand what she had learned about the darkspawn. And the peace, the serenity, the absence of any pain or grief was a mantle she wore and did not want to relinquish. _

"_Listen! Do you hear that? My brethren are singing in the darkness," Cerida said softly, her face glowing in the dark. Her smile grew._

"_I must go now, little one. Fare thee well," Cerida whispered and the light dimmed and she was once again alone in the space between stars._

_Something was pulling at her, distracting her from her pursuit of peace. A voice, a voice she recognized and loved. Her smile faltered..._

She gasped, her body shuddering as it screamed for breath. Great gulping breaths as her heart raced. Her eyes closed against the brightness of the room. She opened them again and found herself staring into Loghain's disbelieving eyes.

"Where am I?" she croaked, struggling against the restraints until she realized they were Loghain's arms.

"Home, little one, where else?" Travis asked with a smile.

Leonie reached up and caressed Loghain's cheek. "Do not frown so, Loghain," she whispered.

"If you ever do that again, I'll throttle you," he growled, pulling her so close that she found it difficult to breathe again.

Her smile crept out and she closed her eyes, falling into a deep and restful sleep.


	52. Chapter 52

**A/N: **_This chapter was difficult to write as my muse decided to take a short vacation without me, the fickle wench. I think she's sulking because she knows these next few chapters are the final ones in Leonie's saga and she doesn't want to let go. Yep, that's my story and I'm sticking to it.  
Thank you all for your kind reviews, for putting the story on alert and for marking it as a favorite. You make my smile so much brighter!_

**Secrets within Secrets**

Leonie slept for two days straight, a deep and dreamless sleep without pain or the calling of darkspawn or nightmares. She wasn't aware of those who took up a bedside vigil, changing shifts every few hours. She wasn't aware of Loghain crawling into bed beside her each night and holding her close to him, unable to close his eyes because every time he did he saw her die. She wasn't aware of Travis sitting and talking to her about the space between stars and her journey there and back. She wasn't aware of her mother, holding her hand and talking softly about Jader and her childhood. She wasn't aware of Anders babbling nonsensically about how adorable Mirabelle was. She wasn't aware of Sigrun informing her that she had sent word to Stig to come to the Vigil and enclosed the money that Leonie had given Sigrun for his trip. She simply slept.

On the third morning after the procedure she woke, fuzzy headed and starving, to find herself looking into Loghain's blue eyes. He quirked a brow at her. "So you've finally decided to join us again," he remarked dryly.

Leonie found herself smiling. "Good morning, Leonie. You look lovely this morning. I believe it is the way the sun strikes your lovely ebony locks," she said, trying her best to imitate Loghain. He hid a chuckle behind a grunt.

"Good morning, Leonie. You've lain about for two days, letting everyone else do your work. Nice to see you'll take up your responsibilities again," he replied, his arm tightening around her.

Leonie's eyes widened and she struggled to sit up. "Two days? Andraste's grace, Loghain, why did you not wake me sooner?" she asked, both irritated and embarrassed.

"I assure you, madam, the entire army of Ferelden couldn't have done so," Loghain replied without rancor.

Memories came flowing into her as she sat up. Excruciating pain followed by moments of such tranquility, such serenity, that she couldn't even begin to express the feelings properly. She remembered something else too, Loghain's anguished cry, his insistent voice calling her.

"I am so sorry, Loghain. I never meant to cause you such pain," she finally said when she was sure her voice would not tremble with emotion.

She reached out, running her fingers gently under his deeply shadowed eyes. He closed his eyes, a rare sigh escaping him. "Thank you for calling me back," she whispered.

"I would advise very strongly against allowing that procedure again," he replied gruffly.

His lips were a whispered promise on her lips and she closed her eyes against the hollowness in her chest, the tears in her eyes. She clung to him, aching at the thought of the pain she had put him through, all for very little gain. Her taint had slowed but only slightly. Did he already know? Did any of them?

Her mind was beginning to churn through the thoughts that had been waiting impatiently for her to wake up. Had she actually died? Or merely hallucinated? She had read somewhere that pain could induce such hallucinations. Had it all been a dream? Had she actually met with Cerida in some mystical place in the night skies?

Were the voices she had heard in the space between stars the spirits, the souls, of the first darkspawn? Were they really called the Dark Stewards? Had they existed or had she dreamt them? Were they the voice of her own tainted blood speaking to her because she had gone mad from the pain? What had they said? What had they meant by the one who came before her? Svanar? Someone else? Use his work. If they, whoever they were, had meant Svanar, she didn't even understand his notebooks. How could she use it? And why would she? Would she be helping the darkspawn or herself? They had told her to find the truth? What truth? Where was the truth?

"You once accused me of having a very expressive face when I thought no-one was watching me. The same could be said of yours. Are you ready to talk about your experience?" Loghain asked and there was that steely edge of stubbornness in his voice that meant he really wasn't asking her, he was demanding she tell him.

"I love you, my taciturn general, and I shall discuss things with you after I have eaten, yes?" she said, moving to stand up.

He pulled her back into bed, his lips warm and insistent. "A few moments of peace and quiet first, yes?" he mimicked her accent and she laughed against his mouth.

"That is the worst Orlesian accent I have ever heard," she complained, pulling his hair. He bit her neck in response and then they just held each other and didn't speak at all.

* * *

Phillipe entered the opulent private salon of Empress Celene and waited as patiently as he could for her arrival. His ship had docked an hour earlier, having arrived in Val Royeaux a full twelve hours ahead of schedule.

There had been a time when he would have worn his most elegant court clothes, rich satin or silk doublets and velvets, for a meeting with the empress but today he wore traveling clothes and he slapped his leather gloves against his leg, the only outward sign of his growing impatience.

He had expected to feel relief at being home again, at seeing the flowers blooming with a wanton beauty along the boulevards and scenting the air with a sweet musk. He was not. He had already heard the rumors that there were border clashes with Nevarra constantly now, that the contended area around the Blasted Hills was filled with Wardens and soldiers from both sides. Getting into the tunnels and finding the cache, already a risky proposition, was now doubly so. But his Lion needed him and he would not disappoint her.

Empress Celene sailed into the room with a rustle of silk petticoats and velvet skirts. The air immediately became thick with the smell of sandalwood and verbena. Her glorious auburn hair was swept up into an intricate series of loops and she wore a bright and lively smile.

"My darling boy! You have returned at last. Is the deed done?" Celene asked, tapping his shoulder with her fan in acknowledgement of his deep bow.

"Yes, Empress Celene. The letters have been destroyed," Phillipe told her as he straightened up. Her smile faded into the shadows.

"What is it, Phillipe? Never have I seen my favorite courtier so somber. Is our delicious Lion well?"

Many people over the years had mistaken Celene's ebullience and charm for an empty headed and frivolous monarch, much to their detriment. She was intelligent, cunning, and above all, observant. Phillipe had learned that long ago.

"She is dying, your highness. I must go to the Blasted Hills. That's the only hope left to her," Phillipe told his empress earnestly. He watched as Celene digested the information, her lightly painted face paling at the news, her green eyes narrowing.

"Then leave at once. Take as many as you need. I will inform Didier that he must control his men. Laurent and Leireaux are completely mad with their nationalism. I believe Laurent might be in league with Evard."

Phillipe paced the pink and gold room, frowning. "We can't allow anyone to know what we are doing, Empress Celene. There are those who wish the secrets we search for to remain secrets and there are those who would use those secrets for their own wickedness. I don't know what is in this cache we need to find but I know it is valuable."

Celene's perfectly arched brow rose and her delicate nostrils flared. "Then you must leave at once. I will send you in the company of my personal guard, at least as far as Churneau. From there, travel at night. One of the guardsmen, Francoise, looks very much like you in the proper light. He shall go with you and stay at Churneau but keep a very low profile. Armand will ensure all believe it to be my court favorite."

Celene stopped speaking and tapped Phillipe on his arm with the long ivory ribs of her fan. "Are you traveling alone?"

"No, Empress Celene. I travel in the company of a Dalish Warden who is posing as my servant."

"Tattoos?"

"Yes, your highness."

"I will send Harlhamus with Francoise as his servant. Send your Warden to me so that my artist can copy his tattoo."

Nobody played the Grand Game with more skill than Empress Celene. She attacked all possible angles and ensured the plan covered them or if that wasn't possible, she took measures to nullify problems that couldn't be handled any other way. She was efficient and brutal in her assessments and implementation. Phillipe admired her and feared her.

"I expect you to hurry, Phillipe. I shall keep the ship at your disposal and prepared for immediate departure. Kill those who get in your way."

Two hours later a group of the Imperial Guard, led by Phillipe, rode through the northern gates of Val Royeaux. Darius quietly informed him that they were being followed.

At midday, the riders stopped and ate a quick meal. Phillipe was nervous, pacing the field and listening for any sounds of an impending attack from the group following them.

Darius came to him and said with quiet determination, "I can circle back and find out who follows us."

Phillipe nodded thoughtfully. The days aboard the ship had given him a better understanding of Darius, who was extremely quiet and extremely observant. He trusted Darius, which was an odd thing for him to realize. He was not used to trusting so quickly. One did not live long within the vicious circles of the Orlesian nobility by trusting others. There were times when Phillipe barely recognized himself; he had changed so much over the past two months.

"Do it. Quietly and quickly."

A short time later, Darius returned. Two were Wardens, Darius told him and from the description, one was Laurent. The third man was small and Darius described him as mouse-like, with a drooping, wispy grey mustache and thin gray hair, small and wiry. Phillipe felt fear coil in his gut.

"That is Jean De'Montague. He is Evard's most trusted man."

The search for the cache would end in bloodshed, Phillipe knew that now. He only hoped it would be De'Montague's blood that spilled. He rather doubted it would be.

* * *

Avernus, Jarren and Fiona sat at the high table, staring at the results of Jarren's latest experiment. Was it really so simple? In the three days since the experiment on Leonie, Jarren had been testing Leonie's blood against his own, searching for a difference that would explain things. It seemed every time he was close, Fiona showed him where his calculations were off or demonstrated that his observations were incorrect. Avernus had gone so far as to remark on her desire not to find an answer. Jarren had disagreed at first but now he wondered. Was she really being honest? Was she even helping?

"Avernus, the electricity only slowed her taint by a trace amount. These figures seem to indicate that the new Joining you created mixed with the right levels of electrified blood from the Architect and Leonie could actually stop it and might even reverse it. I don't think we'd survive that combination but if you look at the way her blood pools and flows when it's mixed with your new formula, her blood reacts very differently than mine."

"That is, at best, a poorly conceived theory," Fiona interjected impatiently, sliding off her stool and moving to stand beside him. "You've only been tainted for a few months. Leonie has been tainted for twelve years. Your blood is naturally going to react differently than hers."

"Are you trying to imply that the only way we can test this theory is to find someone who has been tainted for as long as Leonie has been?" Jarren asked, knowing he sounded surly and quarrelsome, but finding her attitude more than a little annoying.

Fiona shrugged and squinted at his notes again. "I think if you add Svanar's blood with hers in any new Joining it will kill her."

Jarren shook his head, determined to show Fiona that he was right. "Yes, if we add them and do nothing else. But their blood _wants_ to join together. That should tell you that it is meant to be joined. Their harmonics are nearly identical and I have never seen that in any other blood sample."

"You've sampled everyone's blood?" she shot back.

Avernus was glaring at Fiona and Jarren was tempted to as well. "The trouble with secrets is that they require more secrets in order to maintain the original secret. It's like telling a lie that leads to another and then another to cover that lie and soon you can't remember what the truth even is. Wouldn't you agree, Warden Fiona?" Avernus asked pointedly. He wore a twisted sneer of a smile. Jarren felt a shudder of revulsion looking at the abomination that was Avernus.

Turning, Jarren stared at Fiona, whose eyes had narrowed into dark brown slits. She looked furious and more than that, she looked uncomfortable. Jarren frowned as he watched her, wondering if Avernus had hit upon a tender spot. Jarren knew little about interacting with others, he had never had to and he found it difficult now to gauge people.

"Is that supposed to compel me to tell you some deep dark secret, old man?" she mocked tightly, her voice cold.

Avernus let out a cackling dry laugh, as brittle as autumn leaves. "I suspect nothing compels you to do anything you don't want to," the old mage said, truculent and bitter.

There was too much animosity, too much emotion, for Jarren. He preferred the quiet, sterile environment of his own laboratory. "I want to at least talk to her about the possibility," Jarren interjected into the sudden quiet. "We haven't tried that method before and we should at least see how the electrified blood reacts when placed together in Avernus's version of a Joining."

"Give her time to recover from her ordeal. That ghoul nearly killed her," Fiona snapped before turning on her heel and leaving.

Jarren was struck again by Fiona's reluctance to believe they were on the right track.

* * *

Travis was sitting in Leonie's office waiting for her when Leonie entered it later that morning. He smiled at her as she came to sit behind her desk and Leonie returned the smile.

"You saw Cerida," he stated and his smile softened, blurred.

"She was a golden light in the dark, Travis. I have never seen anything so magnificent in all my life."

Travis's smile grew at her words. "She will be a spirit guide, then. That's good."

"A spirit guide?" Leonie asked, her curiosity sharp.

Travis clucked briefly and for a moment Leonie felt a sadness in him, saw it in his expression, but then his smile returned and his eyes were bright as they met hers.

"She won't return to the mortal realm again. She has learned all she can and now she will help spirits return to the space between stars. She'll be the light in the dark for them. And when they are ready to return, she'll help them on their way."

"Oh Travis, I do not know whether to be happy for Cerida or sad for you," Leonie responded. She rose from her desk and went to sit beside her friend.

"Rejoice, Lion. I will miss her all of my days, but knowing she is at peace is a great gift. Thank you."

Leonie felt the dampness of tears forming but she gave Travis a watery smile. She sensed in him an inner peace that had not been present before, even though he had been relieved to find Cerida and had let her go, now he seemed truly happy for Cerida and the last remnants of sorrow seemed to be gone. She touched his hand lightly.

"I will rejoice then, my friend."

Travis clucked again, looking down at her hand and then up to meet Leonie's eyes once more with his oddly colored eyes. "It didn't really slow your Calling down, did it?" he asked and she found she couldn't lie to him.

"I think it did slow it down a little. Perhaps it is enough to allow for Phillipe's return," she admitted quietly, still clinging to hope. Hope, she remembered him telling her, was stronger than fear. She wanted it to be. The fear was there, waiting to pounce on her and destroy her carefully constructed hope, to devour it with sharp and ragged teeth.

"You learned something about the darkspawn while you were in the space between stars, didn't you?"

Leonie gave him a wry smile. "You are much too observant," she complained, shaking her head.

"And what will you do with this new knowledge, Lion? Will it help you? Will it help the Grey Wardens? Will it destroy them? How will it shape the future?" he probed quietly, as if he was staring into her soul, for those were indeed the questions that rattled around inside her, demanding answers when she allowed herself to listen to them.

Standing, Leonie moved about her office, hands clasped tightly behind her back. How could he know? Had she talked in her sleep? Had he visited her while she was dreaming? Did she wear them on her face? Was she that transparent? She must be. And if he had guessed at the questions, had Loghain? Did he know that her Calling had been slowed very little? What secrets were hers to keep and what secrets should she share?

Travis gave a whistling cluck and stood, his short stature seeming to grow as she stared at him. She could almost see the sleek jaguar of his spirit as he stood there watching her.

"He deserves to know. You'd want to know if your roles were reversed."

As much as Leonie wanted to deny that, she couldn't. He was right and she hated that he was. Travis, with his uncanny ability to read her thoughts, to understand her, stood smiling gravely at her.

"I shall tell Loghain, my friend," she conceded unhappily.

Loghain had been through so much in his life, so many heartbreaks and disappointments. She dreaded being the one to bring even more disappointment into his life, but he did deserve to know. She went to the door that separated their offices and tapped lightly on it, waiting for Loghain to answer.

"Come!" he called out and with a deep breath, she gathered her courage and entered his office.

He was at his desk, quill in hand. He looked at her, the question apparent in the quirk of his brow. There was more in his look, a wariness as if he knew she had bad news to share with him, a resignation that spoke of too much disillusionment in his life.

She came around his desk to stand beside him, leaning lightly against the corner of his desk. "We need to talk."

"It didn't work," he said simply, his voice devoid of inflection, as flat as the Feravel Plains.

"Not as we had hoped, my love."

He reached for her hand and held it tightly. "Did it buy us enough time for the men to return?"

"Yes," she reassured. If they hurry, she mentally added.

"What else, Leonie?"

Leonie had been wrestling with the knowledge she had gleaned from the dark spirits that had whispered to her. Was it real? If the experience had been real, were the words true? She looked at her husband, the man who had healed her heart and fought with such tenacity at her side. Who had given her not only his trust but also his heart. Surely he would be able to help her decide what should be told to others and what should remain a secret?

She squeezed his hand as if to reaffirm that he was real and solid and would understand. "I think…I believe…that I spoke with the first darkspawn. Or some kind of spirit of them," she began hesitantly.

"Go on," he said, sitting up and frowning.

Would he believe her or think her demented? He was a man who dealt with reality and this seemed so far beyond reality. Slowly, haltingly, she told him of her conversation with the Dark Stewards, as they called themselves, and as she spoke, she watched for signs of disbelief in his expression and saw none.

"Are you saying we created the darkspawn as a weapon against the Tevinter Imperium?" he finally asked when she stumbled to a stop.

"I am saying that is what these spirits believe. They think we can help them somehow but I do not see how that is possible."

Loghain nodded, deep in thought. "There are too many darkspawn to help and even if we could, Riordan told us that darkspawn are empty, soulless vessels. Even if we cure the taint in them somehow, there is nothing human in them anymore. They're an implacable enemy and they'll always be an implacable enemy."

"Hate is what truly drives them; the betrayal they feel seems to be a part of their group mind. Their hatred and sorrow, they are like echoes from those first ones. And they will not stop as long as mankind lives."

Again Loghain nodded, rubbing a finger along his lips, his sleek brow arched. "I wonder how much our resident Weisshaupt pawn knows about this."

"Perhaps we should ask her," Leonie agreed, turning to leave his office and go in search of her. Loghain's hand stayed her.

"I know it wasn't easy to tell me," he began but she smiled at him and shook her head.

"I love you, husband," she told him with a growing smile. "Telling you anything you do not wish to hear is always a risky proposition."

"Nonsense, I'm the soul of reason," he argued seriously and Leonie felt her laughter bubbling up in her.

"Most assuredly," she agreed on the crest of her laughter.

* * *

Fiona's pace quickened as she neared her room. Turning the corner she ran headlong into Alistair and nearly fell backwards from the impact but his arm shot out and a hand clamped on her upper arm, righting her. She looked down at his hand and then up into his face, unable to speak.

Alistair released his grip and grinned at her. "Darkspawn after you?" he asked, his eyes crinkled as his grin widened.

"Something like that," she mumbled, feeling strangely tongue-tied. Her heart was pounding loudly, the only sound she could hear for several seconds. It would be so easy to just blurt the truth out, to brush at the lock of hair that had fallen across his forehead. But she had no right to do either, she wouldn't add to his burdens now just to assuage her own guilt.

"Ah. I myself am going in search of cheese. It has to be time to eat by now," he explained with a boyish appeal that seemed to radiate from him.

Fiona was surprised to hear herself laugh. So he had inherited Maric's love of cheese. No surprise, he had inherited his father's easy grace and disarming smile. "I'm sure there's plenty of food in the kitchens."

She turned to leave, feeling an almost desperate need to hide from his suddenly penetrating stare.

"You're here to help Leonie, right? I mean, that's why you came from Weisshaupt isn't it?" he asked.

Fiona felt her stomach tighten and flutter. She turned to look at him and her voice was hushed when she asked, "Why do you want to know?"

"Why?" he laughed. "Because she saved my life, that's why. She cried when she had to punish me, did you know that? She cried for me. _Me_. The man who nearly killed her. That's why," Alistair finished and the grin on his lips had set into a certain grimness.

"You're from Weisshaupt, you know what they do to deserters. She could have done that; she could have killed me for treason and attempted murder. She didn't. She stood at the door to the Deep Roads and waited for twelve hours for me to return."

Fiona flinched at the thought of his punishment, flinched because his words bit through her skin and settled deeply inside her chest, a wound that seeped blood. "She's a good person," Fiona agreed thickly before stepping around him. "And so are you," she added softly and walked to her room.

* * *

The hawk glided on the air currents, a graceful expanse of golden brown wings, tipped by rust and ivory. Below the hawk were eight horsemen. Behind them were three more. The hawk emitted a series of high, shrill whistles followed by a low vibrating song. Continuing to glide on the currents, the hawk tipped its wings and looked below. A dozen ravens, wings glinting blue back as the sun caught them, began to fly in tight circles around the three horsemen, upsetting the horses, causing them to balk and rear.

The hawk smiled and flew on.


	53. Chapter 53

****

Revelations

The first spring flowers were beginning to push up through the earth; spindly green fingers playing in the dirt. Leonie paused to bend down and touch a pale green stalk before straightening and continuing on to the practice ring. Karlin was waiting for her and Leonie, realizing that Karlin always fought in leathers, had donned her own Warden leather for their practice session.

Karlin, tawny mane held back tightly in a braid, stared at Leonie. There was a challenge in the elf's golden brown eyes. Leonie smiled in greeting. "You wish to best me, Karlin. I invite you to try. If I win, you will allow Sigrun to train you. If you win, what would you ask?"

"Nothing. I want nothing from you," Karlin barked sharply.

Leonie nodded. "So be it. I myself would have requested a set of newly made and perfectly balanced blades. I noticed Wade and Herren had just such a pair in their inventory. Still, as is your right, you may ask for anything or nothing," Leonie replied with a hint of a smile. She hoped some day that Karlin's prickly pride would be tempered by a more reasonable temperament. She had never blamed Karlin for her bitterness. She did, however, feel it was time to stop letting it control the young woman.

A beautiful blue sky stretched warmly above her, marred by nothing save a few puffy clouds. The wind was a mere whisper of memory and the sun was happy to shine down from its perch. A perfect spring day. It was hard to feel gloomy with such a day greeting them.

She had promised Loghain that she would rest as much as she needed to but her body was restless and in need of physical outlet. When Karlin had told her that she wanted the lesson Leonie had promised her, Leonie had jumped at the chance. It felt wonderfully liberating to have weapons in hand, to feel the excitement of a battle coursing through her blood. It reminded her that she was alive.

She and Loghain had postponed their talk with Fiona. Leonie wanted to give Fiona a chance to come to them on her own and from what she had seen of Fiona in the past two days, something told her that would be coming soon. Fiona was a wraith, quiet and pale and it was obvious to Leonie that she was wrestling with inner demons. Loghain wanted to press her while she was in such a state but Leonie didn't.

"A person forced into submission never grows as strong as a person who gets there under their own power, Loghain. Surely you have seen this before?" she had chided and he'd glowered at her.

"The woman is old enough to have _gotten there_ long ago were she so inclined. Your foolish notion that she will have some kind of sudden breakthrough and be honest with us is brought on by your own youth."

The fight that had followed had not been pretty but it had cleared the air of all the tension Leonie's revelations had brought on. He had accused her of being hopelessly romantic in her ideals and misguided in her principles. She had accused him of being intransigent and too old to know how to admit how woefully ignorant of women he was. When Anders came into Leonie's office and scolded them for waking Mirabelle, they had both fallen silent and not spoken to each other for hours.

He had finally found her on the battlements and stood there, patiently waiting. When she'd asked what he was waiting for he'd told her he was waiting for her apology. She'd started laughing at that and explained that she would be Queen Leonie of Ferelden before that happened. That had struck him as impertinent and childish and he told her so but she'd seen the merest hint of a smile on his face and that had been the end of their fight.

"So, are we going to stand around or are we going to fight?" Karlin asked with a biting acid in her voice.

"Fight, naturally," Leonie responded, positioning herself. She raised her weapons and nodded, indicating she was ready.

Karlin attacked with relish and heart but no finesse. Leonie, weight balanced equally and lightly on both feet, was easily able to dodge and sidestep the attacks, pressing her own attacks with precision. The first bout was over quickly; Leonie knocking Karlin's dagger out of her hand and then pressing in, dagger at the woman's throat. The next round went very much the same.

"It is not enough to be quick, Karlin. You must watch your enemy, find their strengths and weaknesses and play off both of them," Leonie explained, wiping her face with a cloth. Sweat was trickling down her back and she was panting but she felt each nerve dancing as she prepared for the next round.

She was breathing hard and her hair clung damply to her forehead. It occurred to her as she was dodging and spinning away that she was out of shape and ten years older than Karlin. She stumbled at the thought, lowering her guard and Karlin caught her on the side of her head with the blunted weapon. Leonie staggered sideways, stars dancing brightly in her vision.

"Andraste's ass, I'm sorry," Karlin began contritely but Leonie shook her head.

"My fault, entirely my fault," Leonie said, sitting down on the hard ground.

She could already feel a hot welt beginning to form and suddenly she was furious, so full of rage she wanted to tear something apart, someone apart. She blinked, her hands curling into fists. She wanted to kill, wanted to draw blood and the fury was like a furnace, hot and bright.

"Get Loghain!" she shouted, incensed. _Stupid knife-eared bitch, why was she gaping at her?_ "NOW!" she howled, outraged at the girl's slack-jawed expression.

The sun was too bright, it hurt her eyes and Maker's breath, where was Loghain? She stood up on shaky legs and picked up her weapon. Damn him! She howled again, her wrath leaping along her sweat slicked skin; she could feel it burning and tingling.

A man came up to her, hand out. A tall man, a human. Dark haired man. Human man. One of those that hunted her kind. She could feel his taint, it was slow and weak. He was saying something unintelligible. She scrambled away from him. What was she doing with all these creatures? She looked around for escape but others were gathering. A short man with funny eyes. His taint was weak. They were all weak. The short man was speaking. She didn't understand. There was no song in his words.

She rubbed at her eyes. The tall man grabbed at her. She roared and lashed out, raking her nails along his human face. Ugly, smooth face. Her hand. Something wrong. Not look right. Where was song? Hurting her. Where were brothers? A loud howl. Hers. Betrayers! Little man whispered. She slept.

* * *

Phillipe, Darius and one of the guardsmen, Antoine, made it to the cave marked on the map. It was a moonless night; warm and still. Francoise and Harlhamus, along with another guardsman had gone in the opposite direction. The hope was that the three who were following them would follow the decoys.

They paused frequently, listening for any indication that they were being followed. Darius left them several times to backtrack and could find no trace of Laurent or De'Montague. Phillipe wished that would ease the fear that curdled his stomach.

"Here, this narrow opening, I think this is it," Darius said, sliding into the crevice.

The cave was barely large enough to stand in. Timbers were all that seemed to hold back the mountain they were entering the heart of. Phillipe felt the weight of the rock settle on his chest, making it difficult to breathe. The air was dank and damp and there was a far off sound of water dripping.

Darius lit a torch, holding it up. The eerie glow from the cave moss gave way to the flickering golden orange light of the torch. Two passageways, timbered and narrow, led to the northeast and the northwest. With a nod, Darius entered the northwest tunnel. Taking a great gulp of air, Phillipe followed him.

After nearly an hour, the passageway opened up into a large cavern. The walls were slick with water and moss and each drop of water seemed to echo loudly in the chamber. There was a large, ornately carved stone sarcophagus in the middle of the room. Phillipe went to it and tried to pry the lid off but it was impossible. Darius stepped up to it and held his torch high, examining it. The lid of the casket was smooth and worn by the moisture dripping from the domed ceiling. Darius handed the torch to the guardsman. Phillipe watched as Darius took out his dagger and pried at a small indentation. Nothing happened.

"There must be something around here we can use to pry the lid off with," Phillipe finally said, a desperate edge to his voice. It seemed to reverberate off the walls and echo into the shadows beyond the chamber. He tried to ignore the skittering, murmuring noises that seemed to ride the darkness around them. He didn't want to know what was making those sounds.

Darius made a small cut in his finger and the blood dripped onto the lid, trickling slowly down a worn groove to fill the indentation; a noise, no louder than a sigh, and then a series of clicks and a grinding noise. Phillipe met the elf's eyes and they both took a cautious step back. They waited for the noise to die away before moving closer again.

The covering slid back with a firm push. Darius took the torch from the wide eyed guardsman and held it up. Several smaller caskets and leather pouches were stored in the sarcophagus. They decided to take everything and quickly packed them into their knapsacks.

It seemed to take twice as long to retrace their steps. Phillipe felt a dread humming through his veins. It had been too easy. In his experience things that appeared to be too easy generally were not. They eased through the crevice and stepped out of the cave.

"Phillipe Delacroix, what a surprise to see you here, of all places," a sarcastic voice, a familiar baritone, spoke up. De'Montague had found them after all.

Hand easing to his sword, he carefully lowered his knapsack. "De'Montague, what is more surprising is that Evard allowed you off your leash," Phillipe replied, easing his way forward, toward the sound of De'Montague's voice.

"You always seem to pick the wrong side, Delacroix. You just never learn," the man said, his voice mocking.

"I think this time, De'Montague, you are the one who is on the wrong side," Phillipe disagreed, speaking softer in the hope that De'Montague would not know that he was moving closer.

"Just hand over the knapsacks, Phillipe, and perhaps we'll let you live."

"I think not," Phillipe whispered and lunged forward, sword extended. Jean De'Montague screamed as Phillipe's sword tip caught his cheek. But it wasn't the sound of pain. It was the sound of rage.

In the chaos that followed, Phillipe wasn't able to discern where the others were, how their own fight was progressing, he was too engrossed in battling De'Montague. Fighting the darkspawn had sharpened Phillipe's skills and he knew he had hurt his foe, could tell by the grunt of surprised pain from the other man. It only further enraged De'Montague, who lunged and parried with increasing finesse.

Phillipe was dimly aware of a body falling with a whispered groan. And then another body fell with a guttural cry. A torch wavered and fell and Darius called out, "Finish them!"

He stood, in the faint light afforded by the sputtering torch, on his own. Laurent and De'Montague were advancing on him.

"So Laurent, how much is the price for betrayal nowadays?" Phillipe asked disdainfully.

Laurent gave a sharp bark of laughter. "You would know better than I would, Delacroix. I seek to protect my homeland, what do you seek to protect?"

Phillipe smiled softly. "Leonie Caron, the Lion of Orlais, of course. The woman who saved your life more times than she should have," he replied proudly. "I serve her, I champion her. And she champions Empress Celene, the rightful monarch."

"Lion is not dead yet?" Laurent asked, frowning. He glanced at his compatriot. "Didn't you tell me she had succumbed to the taint, De'Montague?"

"Does it matter whether she is still alive? I assure you, she won't be for long. As I told you, Laurent, we don't need her anymore. We only need what's in those knapsacks."

Laurent hesitated. Even in the faint light, Phillipe could see the man's struggle. He pushed his advantage, hoping it would work.

"You were once a man of honor, Laurent. Leonie always spoke with the greatest admiration of her honorable Laurent. You betrayed her and yet she still speaks of you with affection. She still thinks you're an honorable man. We both know you forfeited that honor when you betrayed her trust."

Impatient, De'Montague spoke up, "Just kill him, Laurent."

Phillipe raised his sword again, pointing the tip at De'Montague. "Still using minions to do your work, you little mouse. Scurry back to your hole, tell Evard he won't win. The letters in Ostagar have been destroyed."

De'Montague stumbled slightly at the news and Phillipe felt a flush of triumph. "You know what you must do, Laurent," Phillipe said without taking his eyes off the smaller man.

Phillipe stepped back, preparing himself for a fight with both men. He brought out his dagger and lowered his stance. The other two men started toward him and Phillipe continued moving back, hoping to find a more advantageous spot for the figtht. De'Montague lunged with a precision that Phillipe had not expected and his sword went flying out of his hand. A sharp pain screamed in his wrist and blood began to flow. He took another step back and his foot caught on something, a body. He felt himself falling backwards. The wind hissed sharply out of his lungs as he landed on his back.

De'Montague raised his sword. "This is the best she could do? Sending a boy like you, a fop of a boy?" the older man jeered.

Phillipe propelled himself to his feet, dagger in hand, a battle cry on his lips. He felt the tip of De'Montague's sword sliding along his chest, piercing the thin material and biting rabidly into his skin. And then De'Montague was choking, his sword falling away from Phillipe. Phillipe watched, too shocked to do more than stand there staring as Laurent and De'Montague fought.

Swords screeched as they clashed. The two men fought with a savagery born of panic and hate and betrayal. Phillipe groped around for his sword and advanced, sword point tearing into the back of De'Montague's neck just as Laurent fell, De'Montague falling on top of him. Phillipe dropped to his knees and pushed De'Montague off of Laurent and when he saw the blood on Laurent, he knew there was nothing he could do to save the man. A gut wound, agonizing and fatal with no healer available.

"Laurent," Phillipe murmured regretfully.

"Ha, this is not the way I intended to die," Laurent whispered weakly. "A woman in my arms, that is the way of heroes, isn't it?" Blood was pooling underneath him, trickling out of the corner of his mouth.

"Thank you, Laurent. Leonie will know that in the end, your honor was restored," Phillipe said thickly. He felt emotionally raw and infinitely sad. Once Laurent had been a good man, they had known each other well as favorites of Celene.

"Finish it, then. Finish it and go, friend," Laurent said as his eyes slid shut. Phillipe slid his dagger into Laurent's chest. Without another sound, Laurent's body went still.

Not giving himself time to think, Phillipe moved to Darius. The elf stirred as Phillipe reached into a pack for a poultice. "I thought you'd be a better fighter than that," Phillipe said with the hint of a smile.

The elf grunted and drank the health potion Phillipe offered him. "I didn't expect shems to fight so fiercely," Darius replied.

The chest wound was not serious. There was a knot on the back of the elf's head where he had fallen and struck a boulder and that had caused him to black out. Phillipe was relieved. The guardsman had not been so lucky. Nor had De'Montague's guard.

"Can you walk?" he asked Darius, helping the elf to his feet.

"Give me a minute and I'll run," the elf replied seriously.

Twenty minutes later, the men were on their way back to Val Royeaux. Between Churneau and Ghislain a hawk, screeching and flapping its wings, appeared. Phillipe's horse reared and plunged. He reined him in and Darius came up beside him. The hawk disappeared behind a tree and with a soft rustle of wings, a woman stepped out from behind the tree.

"I am Frith, sent by Nemishia. She asks that you search what you have found and if it is small enough, we can carry it back to Leonie quickly," the woman said, smiling. She stepped closer.

"You are Phillipe, the one who came to our lands, aren't you?" she asked.

Phillipe's relief was nearly overwhelming as it rushed in warm waves through him. He dismounted quickly and began to rummage through the knapsack. They spent an hour going through everything, trying to determine what might help. Finally Darius held up a small scroll. "I think this might be it. It looks like a formula."

Phillipe took the scroll and examined it. So far it was the only thing that looked remotely helpful. A series of symbols and figures, a few words, it did appear to be a formula of some kind. If it wasn't, they weren't out anything. If it was, precious time could be saved. He held the scroll out. "Is this small enough?"

"Yes, I'll shift into my flight form and you must attach it to my leg with this," Frith said, handing him a small piece of twine.

"How long will it take you to get back to the Vigil?" Darius asked quietly.

"I will take this to Ephrona and she will take it to Nemishia. Leonie will have it in three days time."

Phillipe watched the hawk gracefully take to the air, the small scroll attached to her leg.

He allowed himself a moment of hope and then he was riding again, pushing himself and his horse onward.

* * *

Dusk was gathering around the Vigil like a dark cloak. Loghain had sat with Leonie for hours as she slept, ignoring the stinging in his cheek where her nails had raked along his skin. Finally Anders convinced him to allow the mage to look at the wound. He reluctantly left Leonie's side and went into the small office adjacent to the infirmary.

"Hold still, Loghain," Anders said, dabbing at the cuts on his face. "I can't close them until I make sure the wounds are clean," he continued.

As soon as Loghain felt the cooling magic on his skin, he pushed Anders's hands aside impatiently and went into the infirmary. Leonie was strapped down to a bed, restlessly pulling at her straps in her sleep. He hated to see her that way, knew that memories of Montran were the cause of her unrest. He put a hand on her forehead, relieved to find that her skin was cool and dry. When they had first brought her to the infirmary she had been burning up.

Fiona and Travis were there, standing off to the side, neither speaking.

"What happened?" he asked, staring at Fiona accusingly.

"It's the Calling. There will probably be more episodes like this. I'd advise having one of the mages nearby in case it happens again, they can put her to sleep."

Loghain was furious and beyond furious. "She waited for you to come to your senses, to tell her the truth because she has some foolish notion that you are an honorable person. Look at her, Fiona," Loghain snarled, grabbing the mage and forcing her to look at Leonie. He watched with no sense of triumph as she flinched and closed her eyes.

"You haven't got an honorable bone in your body," he sneered and dropped his hand. "I'll deal with you later. Now get out."

He turned back to Travis. "Any luck?"

Travis shook his head, clucking softly. "But her sleep is natural now. She'll wake soon."

Loghain touched her cheek again. She was trying to escape her bonds. "Try again, Travis. She's frightened at being tied up."

"Then untie her. Whatever threat she posed earlier, she doesn't now," Travis replied, his voice reasonable.

Reluctantly, Loghain shook his head. "I'm not willing to take the risk until she wakes up and I see that she's herself."

Travis shook his head. "Will you keep her strapped to this bed until the men return from Orlais? That could be two more weeks," he chided with a sharp cluck of disapproval.

Loghain eyed his friend angrily. "Would you rather I let her go she can run into the Deep Roads?" he asked icily.

Travis fell quiet. Loghain took Leonie's hand in his. "I'm here, Leonie. You're alright now."

It was a lie, of course. She was not alright. By Leonie's estimation she had less than a month before the taint overtook her completely. Could her body hold out that long? He bent and removed the amulet that held her vial of poison. He no longer trusted her judgment. He could not afford to.

There was a bitter familiarity in seeing her wasting away, in feeling her death creeping closer to them while he was powerless to stop it. Helpless but not hopeless, she had told him earlier in the day. Yet he felt the futility of hope, watching her now. It welled up in him with the fierceness of a winter storm, chilling him, freezing him and yet it didn't stop the pain at seeing her as a pale shadow of the Lion she had been when he first met her.

Would he have done anything different? Would he have been able to seal off his heart from her? Maker knew he had tried. The last thing he had wanted was this kind of pain again, this kind of tortured helplessness. He would willingly exchange places with her. He had lived long enough to watch almost everyone he had ever cared about die. She had just turned thirty. His laugh was bitter and never left the confines of his heart. She too had lost almost everyone she had ever cared about and yet she would not let her hope die.

"I would rather have had a year with you than a lifetime without you," she whispered, breaking into his thoughts tenderly, gingerly, as if she knew just how bleak and despairing they were. "Each bright river leads me merrily, to my home, to my heart, to the endless sea," she added and smiled at him, smiled with all her hope and faith shining in her eyes.

"You must tell me, Loghain, what happened to make you restrain me. I remember only that I fought with Karlin. Did I - did I do something to her?"

He watched her silently, unable to tell her that she had become a raging, howling stranger, more darkspawn than human. The thought that she could become one again cut through him more viciously than any blade ever had.

"Oh," she said in that still quiet voice, her smile faltering. "Oh Maker, tell me I did not hurt anyone," she said and her voice was gaining strength. She struggled against her bonds. Loghain untied her.

"You didn't. Do you know what triggered it?"

Leonie sat up, rubbing at her temples. "Karlin's blunted sword caught me on the side of my head because I let my mind wander. I was angry with myself and then I – I just was so furious at everything."

He watched as she pushed herself off the table and stood. She slipped her feet into her boots and bent to lace them. Arms folded, he watched her. She seemed completely herself. For the moment.

"You think you'll just get up and wander off, do you?" he asked with a raised brow. She flashed him a smile.

"I think to go and speak with Fiona. As much as it pains me, you were right. My foolish notion that she will have some kind of sudden breakthrough and be honest with us is brought on by my own youth."

He winced as she used his words but she held no animosity, continuing to look at him expectantly. "Do you wish to join me?" she asked with a teasing smile.

"I think it's important that you not allow yourself to get all worked up about anything," he admonished. He didn't want to trigger another episode. Maker, he didn't want to see her that way again.

"Perhaps that would get her to talk?" Leonie joked, her smile twisting into a wry grin.

"You have the oddest sense of humor," he grumbled, pulling her close. She wrapped her arms around him and for a moment he was content. For a moment he allowed himself to believe.

* * *

Fiona was in her room, according to Jarren. He looked nervously at Leonie and she smiled reassuringly. "I am fine, Jarren, just keep working. Our time is short, yes?"

Leonie didn't bother knocking on Fiona's door. She pushed the door open and stepped into the room to confront Fiona. Pulling herself up to her full height, shoulders squared and chin tilted, she spoke in a low, cold voice.

"I have given you every chance to correct all of the ignorant, foolish and pathetic decision you have made with regard to your _work_, Fiona. Yet still you hold back. I wanted you to come to me and tell me of your own accord why you have held back answers that may help me, may help other Wardens. You have not. Never have I seen a more cowardly, idiotic person. You have precisely one minute to tell me what I wish to know. If you do not, I will not hesitate to kill you with my own hands."

Her hands on her hips, she watched as Fiona paled and for a minute, she was sure that Fiona would choose death. Fiona was struggling, Leonie could see that. She could only hope in the end that Fiona would be honest. She didn't relish killing another Warden.

"If you kill me, how would that help you?" Fiona asked, a flash of anger in her brown eyes.

"If you do not tell me, how would that better serve me? At least this way I shall rid the Wardens of one more twisted soul, yes?" Leonie replied with a sad smile. She moved her left hand from her hip to her scabbard and withdrew her dagger.

"You are out of time, Fiona. What is your decision?" Leonie asked, winter winds coating her words.

Fiona looked down at the floor and sighed, her shoulders slumped. "If I tell you anything, they have threatened to kill my son."

Loghain growled, a menacing sound that caused Fiona's head to whip up. "Wouldn't you do everything within your power to protect your daughter? Haven't you done so for Leonie?" she demanded in a voice that was at once disdainful and scathing.

Loghain didn't speak. Leonie found she couldn't, her thoughts in turmoil. Would she have done anything to protect someone she loved? Probably. Maybe. Her sense of duty warred with her need to protect those she loved. A momentary stab of pity forced her to hold her tongue against the dam of words that raged to be spoken.

"Fiona, do you think he is safe anyway? Regardless of what they promise, they will do whatever is necessary, no matter the cost. This you know well enough, yet you are foolish enough to believe he will ever be safe. Talking or not talking will not save him," Leonie chastised.

"However," she said, her mind churning through the information and searching for a viable answer, "we can ensure that we are all safe from the machinations of those in Weisshaupt. Share the knowledge. Share the secrets with every Warden Commander in every nation. Share the secrets with the leaders of every nation. Encourage the Wardens of other nations to break completely with Weisshaupt and form new alliances among themselves. Reveal the treachery and the secrets. Chop off the snake's head and it no longer has power, yes? So too must we do with Weisshaupt."

"A sound strategy. It's difficult to hide in the open," Loghain agreed, looking expectantly at Fiona.

"You run the risk of having an army of Wardens trying to kill you," Fiona argued. "And that same army will find Alistair and kill him."

"I do not believe this is true. It will not be an army. Once those who follow a madman recognize him as such, they are less willing to follow, especially if there are many more who do not follow the madman. As for Alistair, let him decide what he should do. As long as he is among Wardens he trusts and who trust him, he will be safe."

"No! I won't have Alistair know about this, about me," Fiona cried, strength and determination in her voice.

"Fiona, he should be given the information so that he may protect himself. We can try to find a way to explain it to him without mentioning you, of course, but you do yourself and Alistair a disservice by withholding his true parentage. You are his mother."

Fiona laughed harshly. "No, I'm not, Leonie. You have been more of a mother to him than I ever was or could have been. Maybe," she began and tears gathered in her brown eyes. She cleared her throat and continued, "Maybe had I not been so bitter I could have been a mother to him, but I don't have that kind of compassion inside me. I don't know if I ever did. I didn't want to give him up but doing so was the most compassionate thing I've ever done."

She fell quiet then and Leonie didn't know how to break the silence, wasn't sure she wanted to. She stared at Fiona, trying to understand what drove the woman to inflict such pain on herself and those around her.

Finally, with a long, pensive sigh, Fiona looked at Leonie. "It began with my first encounter with the Architect. I told everyone, even Tremain and you, that I was leading a team to find the Architect. That was never the truth. A group of us hoped that the Architect would succeed in freeing the darkspawn from the song, we believed that if he could control them, if his purpose was to find a way to live peacefully, we could end the Blights forever, we could end the threat of darkspawn entirely."

Leonie sank down on a chair, listening with a growing sense of horror at how twisted the notion of 'by any means necessary, no matter the cost' had become.

"But when you lead the coup, when you reminded me of honor and duty and compassion, I wanted to help you, I was determined to. That's when I was given access to the First Warden archives. That's when I discovered how the first Blight came about and then I read about the cause of the third Blight, the experimental new Joinings. I knew I could find a way to reverse it, given time."

"What happened to change your mind?" Loghain challenged acidly.

"I realized how powerful Leonie's blood was, how it could command the darkspawn given time, that she held the hope of humanity in her hands and I went to talk to Magnus about it. He wanted me to continue to work of a way to cure it, to reverse the effects. But others heard, somehow. You know what Weisshaupt is like."

Fiona paused again, looking unhappily at Leonie. "They wanted you to go through the transformation and lead the darkspawn, to bring about peace. I believed that was necessary. I did what I thought was right, Leonie, and then it was too late to change anything. Finally when I was sent here, I saw Alistair, knew you had saved him but I…" Fiona trailed off, tears sliding down her cheeks.

"It is easy to become as gnarled and twisted, as cold and bitter, as those who live in the Anderfels, is it not?" Leonie asked and found she could not hate Fiona.

"So it's true? We created the darkspawn?" Loghain asked after several minutes of silence. His voice was deathly quiet.

"What Leonie heard, what those creatures told her is true, if I am translating the original records correctly. An army of elves, dwarves and humans volunteered to undergo a treatment that would make their blood impervious to blood magic. They were to use the Deep Roads to come up in the heart of Minrathous and destroy the archon and the magisters. The volunteers became known as the Dark Stewards and they amassed in the Deep Roads in preparation. They were promised that the cure would be given to them as soon as the Tevinter Imperium had been brought to its knees but the sickness proved more virulent than any had imagined."

"They were betrayed," Leonie whispered, her own tears beginning to fall. "And now that there is the possibility of a cure, there is no hope for them. They are empty, soulless creatures now, no longer able to be cured. All those lost souls and all the death in the centuries that followed."

"If word of this gets out it will destroy the Grey Wardens, not the darkspawn. The darkspawn will always be a threat, there are estimates that there are over a million or more in the Dead Trenches at any given time. The only way to ever rid ourselves of them is to have a leader guide them to their deaths in the lava pools of the Deep Roads, to have them kill each other, or themselves."

Loghain's cold and stony voice broke in. "You sacrificed Leonie for that, sacrificed who knows how many others? Your actions are responsible for the deaths of a great many Fereldans who died in the Blight. You should be tossed to the mercy of a group of grieving Fereldans," he snarled in contempt.

"Did it ever occur to you that the real reason this group in Weisshaupt wants control of the darkspawn is because their power would be limitless? The whole of Thedas could be conquered by that army and they would rule over everyone, this little cabal of yours. Maker, you bloody fool!" he finished, furious with her.

For a blink of an eye, Leonie was sure he would kill Fiona with his bare hands. She put a restraining hand on his arm and took a deep breath, trying to absorb Fiona's words, trying to understand them. _Whatever is necessary, no matter the cost_. She looked up at Loghain and smiled softly, sadly.

"If there is a way to stop the Blights, stop the darkspawn attacks, should I not pursue it?" she asked softly.


	54. Chapter 54

**In These Dwindling Hours**

His fingers were digging painfully into the flesh of her upper arm as he dragged her to their quarters. She didn't fault him for his anger, he was frightened and he didn't want to lose her. She understood that. Still, his fingers were beginning to hurt her.

"Loghain, loosen your grip immediately. I do not wish to lose my control," she hissed as they hurried along the corridor. He released her so quickly she stumbled and only caught herself by grabbing his shirt.

The door shut behind them with a resounding bang. "I can't believe you would even suggest such a thing," he began, his voice vibrating with anger. "Are you completely insane?"

Leonie smiled unhappily. "Not yet, no," she replied carefully.

"An army of darkspawn at your disposal. I can see why you would jump at the chance," he sniped sarcastically as if she hadn't spoken.

"I cannot talk to you when you are on the rampage, Loghain. You must sit and talk about this reasonably, yes?"

"Reasonably? One does not reason with a madwoman, Leonie. One locks her up," he growled furiously.

"Yes, well, that would be a very unwise move, Loghain. I hear I am quite vicious when provoked."

"That's not funny. That's not even remotely funny. It only lends credence to my theory that you're a madwoman."

"If you had been able to overthrow the Orlesian occupation without another soul being killed, would you have done it even if it meant sacrificing yourself?"

"That isn't the issue Leonie. Not one of those men who went through the transformation kept their sanity. In fact, two Blights were started by those Wardens. What makes you think you wouldn't start the sixth?"

Leonie collapsed in a chair at the thought. "I – I would not do that," she protested weakly, her arguments falling away from her like petals on a dying flower.

"You think that now but how can you possibly know what, if anything, you'd think as a darkspawn?" he snarled.

He stared at her, his eyes icy. She tried to look away from the intensity of his gaze and could not. She was just as frightened as he was, just as angry at fate. She gave him a tremulous smile. "I love you, Loghain. Maker, I love you more than I can even express," she whispered brokenly. His face softened, his expression somehow the saddest thing Leonie had ever seen.

"You are a lion, we all know that. You don't have to prove anything," he said quietly. "You don't have anything to feel guilty about. Don't do this, Leonie. Don't even consider doing it."

She was not expecting the tender plea in his voice. She was not expecting it to stab into her and make her cry. But she was sobbing softly. Her voice was drowned by her tears. When she finally had them under control, she searched for her voice.

"I have spent my life fighting the darkspawn, believing in the Grey Warden motto and core beliefs, in the brotherhood of the Grey. I was honored to be a member of such an organization and proud to be a commander. Now I discover just how despicable they are, how wrong I have been, how many lives I have destroyed with my naivety. I do not know how to live with that," she whispered.

Loghain pulled her out of her chair and into his arms. "One day at a time, Leonie. That's how you live with it," he said roughly. "One day at a time."

The catch in his voice, the ragged edge of unrelieved pain told Leonie that he was speaking from his own past and she tightened her arms around him. The room darkened as shadows crept out of the corners and began to wrap around them. Still they stood in their room, in each other's arms, each of them leaving unspoken the knowledge that their time together could be measured in the dwindling hours before them. Hope was receding into the bleakness that surrounded them. They skipped dinner and curled up in bed together, neither speaking. Leonie dozed off, listening to the steady beat of Loghain's heart.

Loghain bent and kissed her neck, a string of warm little kisses that made her stomach flutter and her heart skip a beat. Her eyes opened and she stared into his wintry blue eyes. "And now it is you who molests sleeping people," she said with a warm smile.

"You aren't asleep now," he murmured against her skin and her stomach fluttered again, a warmth spreading through her, a languid flush of warmth that settled low in her.

Leonie closed her eyes and breathed deeply, feigning a snore. Loghain nipped at her neck. "Irrepressible child," he complained.

"Curmudgeon," she tossed back at him but when he made to move away, she captured him with her arms and legs, pulling him closer.

"Now that I am awake, I think perhaps you should continue," she said in a voice that was husky with sleep and passion.

"And have you snore right in the middle of things? No thank you, Mistress Mac Tir," he replied, rolling them over.

She was laughing softly. In these moments they were just a newly wedded couple delighting in each other's playful company. This was the Loghain that so few ever saw and she loved him in this rare whimsical, teasing mood. "Perhaps if I show you that I am serious?" she asked, waggling her brows in perfect imitation of Anders.

Loghain's soft chuckle ruffled her hair as she bent to drop light kisses on his jaw. She let her tongue tease at his ear and heard his hitch of breath, felt his hands tighten on her waist. "Oh, you are not so immune to my charms as you would have me think," she remarked lightly, blowing a gentle breath into his ear. He let out a low growl.

"Charms? Which charms would those be?" he asked, arching his brow.

Leonie rolled off him and turned her back on him. "None that you shall have a chance to discover," she huffed.

She felt him turn on his side and run a hand along the curve of her hip, lingering at her waist before skimming up to cup a breast. Her breath came out in a gasping sigh. "Oh, those charms," he said and bent his lips to tickle at her neck.

She rolled back over, laughing. Her hand came up to trace the curves and sharp planes of his face, a finger running down the length of his nose. "I find, husband, that I am suddenly not so terribly tired," she said, opening herself to him in invitation.

"Indeed, wife? How fortuitous for us both," he replied and now his voice was husky as his hands began a thorough examination of her charms. Much later, they fell asleep in each other's arms.

* * *

They all seemed to know her time with them was running out. Her Wardens, her comrades, her friends reminded her to hold on. There were no words of farewell, no admonishments to continue fighting, only a hope that permeated the air like smoke, clinging to them all. Leonie was touched by their stoic acceptance that she would continue to fight until she drew her last breath.

Wandering the hallways of the Vigil, she couldn't help but remember how many times she had gotten lost, how frequently Varel or Nathaniel had come to her rescue and pointed her in the right direction. She found Varel in his office a few minutes later.

"If you've come to say good-bye or something equally as foolish, Lady Leonie, I won't listen," Varel said, glancing up from his desk.

"I have come to see you because I am bored. Everyone thinks because I am turning into a darkspawn that I should rest in a bed. My mind is eating me alive from the inside out," she admitted frankly, smiling at him. "If you tell me to do the same I shall fire you as seneschal."

Varel's smile, a twitch of lips and a hint of humor in his eyes, came and went. "I believe that Warden Commander Loghain might argue with your right to fire me, but I see your point. I have the crop projections to review and also the annual tithes to tally. Take your pick."

She chose the tithes. The thought of reading about crop projections on crops she would not see depressed her. She took the tithing list to her desk and began to tally them. Even with the destruction of some farmland, the tithes pledged to the Wardens were surprisingly high. They would be able to not only complete the repairs to the Vigil but also outfit the growing number of support troops, the Silver Order as Ser Alec referred to the group.

Bent over the figures, she stopped, her quill dropping a blotch of ink on her tally sheet. A commotion in the hallway and then Loghain's voice issuing sharp commands had her on her feet and moving to the source of the noise.

An increasingly rare darkspawn incursion near Eddelbrek's farm, according to the messenger, and the Wardens needed to hurry. "Please, Loghain, I would like to go," Leonie was surprised to hear herself say. The noise in the hallway stopped, an unnatural hush falling over the Wardens.

Loghain turned to look at her and she smiled serenely at him. "Nathaniel is more than capable of leading this mission," he replied curtly, turning back in a dismissive manner that made Leonie's jaw clamp down on words best left unspoken.

When the Wardens left to armor up, Leonie followed Loghain into his office. He leaned against the mantle, waiting for her to speak, his brow lifted in anticipation of a fight.

"I think it is important that Fiona witness this, both what the darkspawn have done and what we must do. She needs to remember what being a Warden in the field is like."

"And this can only be accomplished with you leading the charge?" he asked, sardonic and chilly.

"No, but I ask you this, Loghain Mac Tir. You are a warrior. Were you facing your death, would you lay about like a timid old woman waiting for it or would you wish to fight your sworn enemy for as long as you were able?" she challenged quietly, her chin tilted slightly.

Loghain took her arm in a firm grip and propelled her out of his office. Her heart fell. While she couldn't blame him, she was disappointed that her appeal seemed to have fallen on deaf ears.

"So now you will lock me in our room so I cannot sneak out?" she asked, aware of how mocking her voice was but unwilling to apologize.

"No, now we help each other into our armor," he replied curtly, before issuing new orders to Varel.

Ten minutes later Loghain, Travis, Leonie and a very unhappy Fiona departed the Vigil on horseback.

"If you feel even a tickle of anger you are to let Travis know immediately, Leonie," he instructed as they neared Eddelbrek's.

Leonie surveyed the smoky fires, the broken, dead bodies and nodded. "Of course, Commander."

Dismounting, they made their way toward the sounds of battle. "I want you to remember who it is we fight, Fiona, and why. I want you to see what your arrogance and ignorance have cost these people," Leonie said to the older mage.

Fiona's face was pale and pinched and her eyes were grim and accusing. "You believe that living in the Anderfels has prevented me from seeing what the enemy is? Everything I have done has been to stop the darkspawn."

"No, everything you have done caused the fifth Blight and sitting in your little tower has made you forget that these are real people and real darkspawn, not some hypothetical extracts of either."

Leonie pulled her sword and dagger out as Loghain adjusted his shield. With a nod, he moved forward and Leonie stayed by his side, her heart pumping, blood surging. They found the group of darkspawn, fifteen of them, fighting a small group of ill-equipped farmers. They both knew, without a word spoken between them, who had to die first.

With a taunting battle cry, Loghain charged in and Leonie raised her sword, swinging it in a shallow arc and cleanly decapitating a genlock. The taint sizzled along her nerves, sang in her blood as they waded into the fight. The emissary, distracted by Loghain, never saw Leonie's dagger as it pierced through the vile and corrupted skin of its neck. It fell lifeless to the ground.

"No ogres, how disappointed you must be," Loghain yelled above the roar of the battle. Leonie's laughter rose to float in the air, mingling with the growling and snarling darkspawn.

Travis, standing back and using his bow, protected Fiona, who was busy casting lightning bolts at the enemies. Leonie wanted to turn and look at the mage, to see if she still seemed remote and removed from humanity of if she was beginning to come out of her twenty year stupor, but the enemy was all Leonie had time to focus on.

The air assailed Leonie's nose, burning her nostrils, heavy with the stench of burned flesh and rotted skin. Her eyes watered and her throat felt scorched but she continued, in perfect unity with Loghain, until the last darkspawn fell.

They looked for survivors and found three young children, huddled behind a small outbuilding, holding on to their dead mother and crying. Leonie knelt down and whispered what comfort she could and asked them if they had relatives nearby. Without turning around, Leonie knew that Fiona was watching her.

"Aunt Amaryllis," the oldest child said, her soot stained face streaked with the tracks of her tears.

"Your father? Where is he, child?"

"Dead, died in the Blight, ya ken."

"Then we'll take you to your aunt, yes? But we must first make sure your mother is sent off properly so she can be with your father. I am Leonie. What is your name?"

"Rowan, on account of her being the Warrior Queen, ya ken."

"Come, Rowan, help me find a nice place for your mother's pyre."

It was a somber, silent ride back to the Vigil and once Leonie had found Amaryllis and left the children in her care, she went to find Fiona, not bothering to clean the grime of battle from her.

Fiona was in her room, faced scrubbed and as grey as ash. Leonie took a deep breath, willing her anger away before she spoke, her voice low and cold.

"Now you see what we fight and why we must. You see there is no way to control a mindless beast. You see what your negligence has unleashed. We cannot cure them; we cannot control them for all that we created them.

"The Blight devastated not only the land, but the people. Orphanages overflow, dead still lie rotting in fields that are now tainted and may always be tainted. Whole families no longer exist. Entire villages are burnt husks and no longer habitable.

"You knew that others went mad during the transformation, you knew that Svanar was mad yet you persisted in your arrogance that you knew best. You still believe I will somehow be different than the others. I will not. The darkspawn will hate for as long as they exist and no-one will ever change that.

"I tell you now, Fiona, I will kill myself before I allow myself to be transformed. Would that I had the hate within me to kill you as well."

Turning on her heel, Leonie left. As she walked away, she heard a loud sob, followed by the sound of a woman weeping.

Tired, hope flagging, Leonie wanted to have a quiet dinner with Loghain in their quarters but he insisted that they join the other Wardens. He laced her gown up and dropped a kiss on the nape of her neck.

"You are avoiding your mother," he accused quietly.

"I do not know what to say to her, I do not know how to explain that not only did she have to see papa dying, now she must witness her daughter's death as well," Leonie confessed, head bowed, fingers twisting anxiously.

"She knows that, Leonie, but she is who you inherited your strength from. Even I can see that. Talk to her, spend time with her while you have the chance," he said and there was that sorrow, that pain that ran so deep in him. She knew he was remembering his own mother and her heart went out to him.

Leonie turned in his arms, reaching out to smooth the furrows between his brows. "I will do as you say, Loghain. And if I do not…" Leonie trailed off and cleared her throat. "Remember that she is there for you as well."

"Now, let's go eat before you stomach complains any louder," Loghain said, taking her hand and looping it through is arm.

She should have known. She stood in the doorway of the dining hall and felt tears burn at the back of her throat. Her Wardens, dressed in their finest, were standing and cheering her. Her mother, standing among them, was smiling. A Wardens only dinner and Aura, still tired from giving birth, made a brief appearance with a sleeping Mirabelle.

"Come for a visit tomorrow, Lion. We haven't had a good visit in ages," Aura invited and with another smile and wave, she went back to her quarters.

"A toast! To the Lion of Orlais!" Sigrun cried, holding her goblet high.

She was laughing as she made her way to the table. She sat between her mother and Loghain. The meal and the company were splendid and laughter was the order of the night. Stories were exchanged, exploits rehashed and toasts were frequent.

Nathaniel sang for them, a sweet ballad and then a folk song. Leonie was clapping and keeping time to the music with her foot tapping merrily. When he finished the folk song, he looked at her, a wicked grin gracing his austere face, lighting it from within.

"This next song is dedicated to our favorite Lion," he said and with a flourish and a bow, he cleared his throat. The other Wardens rose as one, save Loghain, who remained seated by her side. To her surprise and embarrassment, they all began to sing…

_In Val Royeaux they sing a song, a sad and bawdy tale,  
About a lovely lioness and her painted veil._

_She danced with quick and clever steps for young and even old,  
A saucy smile upon her face and eyes so very bold._

_One night a thief did steal a kiss and took her painted veil,  
And oh our lovely lioness, her face turned wicked pale._

_She stopped her dancing straightaway, her hands upon her hips,  
And men were shocked to hear such words coming from her lips!_

_The room of Wardens went quite mad, they begged for her to stay,  
But on that night she wept and wailed and then she ran away._

_Now they claim the sultry Lioness went quietly insane,  
But I tell you now truthfully, she merely found Loghain.  
Oh I tell you now truthfully, she merely found Loghain!_

Leonie, blushing and laughing, leaned against her husband. It was another of those rare and perfect moments in her life. It restored her hope.

That night, Svanar came to her in her dreams…

"_You can't really do anything, Leonie. I thought I could. I thought together we could, but it isn't possible. Your soul, it dies when you transform, it twists and become something so dark and misshapen it isn't even a soul any longer."_

_She was standing in the Deep Roads, somewhere she wasn't familiar with. There was no fear in her as she looked at his ravaged face that had once been human and then darkspawn and was now neither. She held out a hand to him and he took it in his claw. She smiled at him._

"_You saved my life once and I didn't ever thank you," she told him, unafraid of his sibilant voice and crooked, elongated body._

"_You saved me as well. I didn't expect that death would free me," he replied as they walked along the carved stone path. He was walking with purpose, as if he knew where he was going and she was content to walk beside him. She knew it was a dream, knew he could not hurt her, knew he had been a victim of fate just as she had been._

"_Did you know what was happening to you?" she asked him as they continued on. The way was lit by torches that flickered on as they approached. She should be frightened by that but she was still oddly calm._

"_Not at first. By the time I did, well, it was too late, wasn't it? But you can fight it. You were ever stronger than I," he told her. _

_She realized, as they continued on, that he was not walking, he was gliding. She felt a stirring of unease. "I tried to read your journals, Svanar, but I could not understand them. Can you explain them to me?" she asked to take her mind off her growing discomfort._

"_The ravings of a madman, Lion, nothing more."_

"_Is there nothing you can say that will help?" she asked impatiently. His laugh, brittle and distorted, bounced off the walls of the Deep Roads and skittered into the dark. She began to feel afraid. It was not the laugh of a sane person._

"_Ah, there it is, that fear that I will harm you," Svanar said, pausing to shake his head. "I can't harm you, Leonie. I don't even exist anymore, just an echo, a reflection of a remembered thought," he said. "I never meant to harm you at all, I thought I could help change the world. Isn't that what we all want?"_

_He stopped again and she recognized where they were, under Vigil's Keep near the barrier doors. "We won't meet again, Leonie. Be strong and continue to fight. The answer is within your blood. It is always the blood," he instructed and with a broken, corrupted smile, he faded from view…_

Leonie woke with a start and quietly rose. Loghain, looking peaceful and oddly vulnerable, lay sleeping with his arm flung behind his head. She wanted to reach down and stroke his brow, to tell him how full he made her heart but she let him sleep. Instead, she gathered her clothes and quietly left the bedroom, closing the door with a soft click.

Padding on bare feet to the window in their sitting room, she pushed back the curtain. Dawn, a pink rose blooming in the east, promised a beautiful day. She dressed quickly and went up to the third floor, to the laboratory. Jarren was there, bent over his notes and she cleared her throat, announcing her arrival.

"Good morning, Lion. I'm surprised to see you this early," Jarren said, distracted by whatever he was working on.

"Do not let me disturb you, Jarren. I wish only to see Svanar's journals."

The blood is the key. The key to what? Was it literally the key to deciphering his words? Could it be that simple? "Jarren, have you a small knife?"

Wordlessly, he slid off his stool and went to a small cupboard. Extracting a small, lethally sharp instrument, he handed it to her, his face wearing a mask of curiosity.

She carefully cut the tip of her finger and squeezed the blood, watching as it dripped steadily into a small dish. Setting the knife down, she looked about for a rag. Jarren continued to watch her, fascinated. The rag absorbed her blood and she carefully rubbed the rag across a coded passage of the journal. Words came into view almost immediately. They were not in a language she knew, but Jarren made a sound of surprise in his throat.

"Arcanum," he breathed, his tone almost reverent. "Modern Arcanum."

Leonie grinned at him. "It was always the blood," she said and stood up. "I expect you have enough of my blood to finish the job. Wake Avernus and Fiona and start translating," she instructed and her hope became a living creature in her.

Racing down the hall and pounding down the flight of stairs, she was breathless with hope, with excitement. She burst into their quarters, calling out for Loghain. When he appeared, sleepy and only half dressed, she launched herself at him, throwing her arms around his neck.

"My blood was always the key!" she whooped, peppering his face with kisses.

"What are you on about?" he asked, pulling back slightly from her onslaught, his face creased with concern.

"Svanar's journals! My blood was always the key!" she exclaimed and her laughter bubbled up again. "Andraste's grace, it was literally the key to the ciphers!" she crowed.

He smiled, a rare bright smile. "Then we need to get busy deciphering them."

"Yes, I have told Jarren to get Avernus and Fiona and begin the work."

"Fiona? Do you really think that's wise?"

"Perhaps not, but in the company of Jarren and Avernus I do not think she will sabotage the journals, Loghain. I think perhaps she has remembered what humanity means."

"You are woefully idealistic," he commented with a frown.

Leonie smiled up at him. "It is to make up for you being woefully realistic," she replied with a pert smile. "Besides, I believe I put the beard on that lion," she added.

Loghain's rare smile turned into a familiar snicker. "You bearded the lion?" he corrected with another snicker.

"Maker's breath, I have said this, yes? I went to Fiona yesterday and put the beard on her lion."

"Exactly so," he agreed with yet another snicker.

"As much as I hate to leave you in such good humor, I am going back to the laboratory and oversee their work. Perhaps they will not be so willing to make fun of me, yes?"

* * *

Loghain looked up from the paperwork to find that the sun was already midway through the sky. He frowned, wondering why Leonie hadn't updated him on any progress the mages had made. Pushing away from his desk, he found his way to the laboratory, trying to ignore the unease that began to coil in his stomach.

Jarren, Avernus and Fiona were bent over their work and all three looked up impatiently as he entered. "Where's Leonie?" he asked immediately and the coil of unease began to twist more tightly in his stomach at their perplexed looks.

"I haven't seen her since this morning," Jarren finally answered.

Loghain was already running before Jarren finished speaking. He made his way down to Varel's office, to Leonie's. He called for the Wardens and had them search the Vigil. A soldier arrived with Alistair a few minutes later.

"Tell him," Alistair said.

"I saw Lady Leonie heading to the cellars about three hours ago, Commander Loghain. Said she had something she needed to get so I didn't think anything about it, her being the arlessa and all."

Fear twisted the coil of unease and it unwound, flowing through his blood with a savage pain. "You're with me," he barked at Alistair and left the keep at a run. Other Wardens followed them without knowing why.

They spread out in the cellar in groups of two. Travis stayed with Loghain. Loghain reached out, trying to feel Leonie's taint and he felt a tug, a pull. He followed it down into the bowels of the cellar and they found her at the barrier door, bloody and unconscious. He was afraid to touch her, afraid she would be cold and lifeless. There was too much blood for her to be anything else. His heart screamed in his chest, a twisted lump of agony.

Travis scooped her up and Loghain saw her eyelids fluttering. He took Leonie from the Travis and held her close, unaware that he was speaking, unaware of anything except the need to get her to the infirmary.

"Run ahead and let Anders know!" he barked at Travis.

Loghain stumbled on, only reluctantly passing her to Alistair so he could climb the ladder and then taking her possessively back into his arms. He was panting, sweat rolling down his face as he entered the keep. She was breathing in rapid, shallow gasps and there was blood everywhere, but she was alive and he had to hang onto that.

"Maker's breath, she's scratched herself nearly to death," Anders breathed before closing his eyes and beginning to send warm blue currents of healing magic into Leonie.

Loghain stood, helpless and frustrated, by the side of her cot. Nila entered, coming to stand beside him, murmuring encouragement to him and a plea to Leonie. He found he couldn't speak at all, words refusing to form, his insides turning against him, suffocating him, a primal cry screaming to be set free.

Once her self-inflicted wounds were cleaned and healed, Loghain expected her to awaken but she didn't. Her breathing was still shallow and short, her chest barely rising and falling with each breath. Her face was parchment pale and a fine sheen of perspiration dampened her skin.

"Stay with her, Nila. Keep talking to her," Loghain instructed and strode out of the room, taking the stairs two at a time.

"Time's up," he growled, glowering at the trio in the laboratory. "You'd better have something to tell me," he added, a tall and menacing figure in the gloomy room.

"We're close. It has to do with both harmonics and her being a fifth generation Warden," Jarren explained when neither of his fellow mages seemed inclined to talk.

"And?" Loghain asked impatiently.

"The taint has mutated in her, the amount of it in each generation built up in the blood, it had a cumulative effect on the blood that we are trying to reproduce. The journals indicate that too little of Leonie's blood in the Joining drives the darkspawn insane. It doesn't stop the Archdemon's song, it adds another song that appears to conflict with his song.

"Too much blood kills the darkspawn rather quickly. It stops the song but causes their blood to fight her blood until it simply stops flowing in them. We have to make sure the ingredients are in the right proportion of we'll only hasten her transformation, or worse, her death."

Fiona looked up, frowning. "There is something we are missing here, some fundamental ingredient or process."

Loghain's hand snaked out and he grabbed Fiona by her throat. "If this is yet one more of your delaying tactics, I will kill you," he snarled, releasing her so quickly and violently that she stumbled back and nearly fell. Avernus righted her.

"Threatening us won't help us solve this any faster," the only mage said, iced acid. "I suggest you let us work in silence."

Hours passed slowly, the silence thick with accusation and frustration. Why hadn't he insisted she stay with him? Why hadn't he made sure someone stayed with her? He had been lulled into a false hope by her insistence that hope was stronger than fear. Hope was not stronger than death and in his experience it never had been, it never would be. Death always found a way.

In the middle of the night she began to thrash about and he finally crawled onto the cot beside her and gathered her into his arms, holding her tightly, holding her still. She was burning up, her skin dry. Her lips were cracked and patches of taint seemed to form before his eyes. The luster and glow that had always marked her joy in life had dulled.

"Don't you dare give up," he hissed at her. "Don't you dare."

But it wasn't Leonie who was giving up, he knew. He was; he had no more hope in him, if he'd ever had it to begin with. Maker, he didn't want to live in a world where she wasn't a part of it. He thought of the empty years before she had entered his life and the endless stretch of emptiness waiting for him if she died. His tears burned and stung, a recrimination, a chastisement that he had so little hope, refusing to fall and give him some release.

She stilled just before dawn, her breath now rattling in her chest, dry and brittle and whispering of death. Nila, dozing lightly in the chair beside them, stirred and her eyes found Loghain's in the semi-dark. Both knew the sound of death approaching.

"Get Travis," he told the woman and she was gone.

"Find her, Travis. Find her and help her," Loghain commanded, staring at his friend, desperately trying to find hope in Travis's eyes.

"I can't promise anything but I'll try," Travis clucked quietly. He lay down on a cot and closed his eyes, humming softly...

_The jaguar, sleek and graceful, entered the Dreamscape. He wandered through grass that had once been fresh and newly minted green but was now withered and dying, a dull brown that rattled in the cold wind. The sky, once the color of the Waking Sea, was grey and empty, no yellow orb hanging in it. No birds, no flowers, nothing but greys and browns as far as the eye could see. He let out a low mewl of discontent._

_The tall oak that had once boasted hundreds of serrated green leaves was bare now, a hulking mass of twisted dead wood. Beneath it was a lion, it's once golden mane a matted, tainted grey. She raised her head weakly, her once playful roar a brittle, quiet gasp. _

"_Come little one, you are not fighting hard enough. Where is your heart? Where is your hope?" he chided lovingly. _

"_I can't find it, friend. I don't remember where I put it. I grew tired looking for it," the lion whispered. _

"_You would kill the falcon then? That's what will happen if you don't continue to fight. If you can't find your hope, he won't allow his to grow."_

"_But hope can only take you so far, Ser Jaguar," the lion responded sadly._

"_No, little one, it can take you as far as you want to go," Travis answered, coming to curl around the tainted little lion. _

_A hum in the air, the beating of tiny wings and a beautiful, familiar hummingbird appeared, bringing color in its wake. Grass that had been seared and dead began to stand tall, green climbing up the stalks. _

_The lion twitched and pushed herself up, staring at the color. "I remember green grass and summer skies. I remember a falcon, a bold bird that sang surprisingly sweet," the lion murmured and let out a small roar, a tiny sound, as if testing it. A louder roar followed. _

"_Fight, little one. Hold on to summer, find the falcon. There is your hope."_

_He watched as the lion bounded off, knowing that she would find the falcon now, whispered a prayer to Mother Earth that the lion would remember how to hope. As he turned to leave, he heard a whisper on the now gentle winds that blew across the greening grass. "Wait for the hawk..."_

__

_

* * *

_

"This should do it," Avernus said, shaking the vial of blood. A drop of Archdemon blood, three ounces of lyrium dust, a drop of Svanar's blood, a drop of Leonie's blood and half a vial of blood that had been produced by mixing the concoction with Avernus's Joining five times before sending a jolt of lightning into it. They could only hope that was the right amount of each ingredient.

"I still worry about the number of drops of Svanar's blood. Or even if it should be there," Fiona fretted tiredly. "I still think we have missed something, something that even Svanar failed to see. I had hoped it would be in the cache but we can't wait any longer, can we?"

The three mages nodded at each other. They had done what they could. Sighing, Jarren led them downstairs to the infirmary.

* * *

"We need to wait. Nemishia should be here soon," Travis argued. "Trust me, Loghain, as you have trusted me before," he urged.

Loghain nodded slowly. "But if she worsens, Travis, I won't hesitate to give her the Joining."

Her breathing was becoming so labored and painful that it hurt Loghain to listen to it. He was sitting on the edge of the cot, bathing her hot skin with a cold cloth. Anders was casting heals that seemed to do no good but he, like Loghain, couldn't bear to see her in such distress.

An hour passed and she remained unchanged. Another hour and Loghain felt every nerve in him straining and twitching. He kept up a whispered command to fight, to continue to fight but he wondered if he was doing her a favor, or if he was only prolonging her agony.

By the third hour, he was ready to administer the Joining. She was failing again, her heart beating rapidly, her fever scorching her skin. He looked at Nila and saw she was feeling the same way.

Loghain bent and kissed her dry, cracked lips. He wasn't sure, in that instant, if he was strong enough to do what needed to be done to free her from her pain. He opened the vial and prepared to pour it down her throat.

"Stop!" a voice cried and he looked up, startled, spilling a bit of the contents of the vial on Leonie's gown.

Nemishia, pale and tired, rushed forward, a small scroll in her hand. "Phillipe sent this; he thinks it might hold the key."

Fiona reached forward and took the scroll, reading it with a frown. Avernus and Jarren peered over her shoulder and then they all looked at each other. "Where are we going to get that?" Jarren asked.

"From me," Fiona whispered. "Someone fetch me a knife. Jarren go to the lab and get a clean vial, Avernus's mixture, Loenie's electrified blood and a vial of fresh darkspawn blood. Hurry!" she cried and went to Loghain.

"She needs the blood of someone who has already gone through their calling," she explained quietly. "That's what we never considered."

Loghain stared at her, trying to determine if she was telling the truth or if it was just one more lie, a lie that would kill Leonie.

"I know what you're thinking, Loghain. But I'm right. Ask Avernus. I know I'm right," Fiona said and in her voice was the strength of her conviction, a strength that had not been there before.

Loghain nodded and waited impatiently for Jarren to return. They were all waiting impatiently. As soon as Jarren entered the room, Fiona took the knife Loghain had given her and sliced a long, deep cut on her palm. She and the other two mages worked quickly to create a new Joining and the air sizzled with ozone as they electrified the concoction.

Leonie didn't want to swallow it and he nearly broke her jaw holding her mouth shut. He didn't allow himself to think, to hope. He watched as her throat convulsed and he heard her swallow. She twitched and groaned and then began to scream, high and shrill, tormented, anguished. She tried to tear her skin off and he held her in his arms again, trying to keep her still. The screaming seemed to go on for hours but it was only a few moments. Her body bucked and twisted, trying to escape a pain he couldn't see, didn't know how to ease, and then she stilled and stiffened.

Her eyes fluttered and opened. "Say it," she pleaded hoarsely.

"I love you Leonie Caron Mac Tir," he whispered against her hair.

"As I love you, husband," she whispered in return. With a long, shuddering sigh, she closed her eyes again, the tension easing from her body. Her breathing slowed and deepened.

Loghain wept.

**A/N:** _The title of this chapter is the same title I used at the end of The Lion of Orlais. It seemed fitting to end the saga that way.  
The epilogue will be posted either later today or tomorrow sometime.  
Thank you all, from the bottom of my heart, for all the help, encouragement and friendship you offered on this incredibly long journey_.


	55. Chapter 55

**A/N:** _This epilogue is written for, and dedicated to, my sister who is battling cancer. Keep on fighting, __**Maggie Annie**__, and remember that hope is stronger than fear. _

_**Mille Libri**__, thank you for the idea of Fergus and Anora together. I highly recommend her one shot _"This Fire_" about that pairing. I loved it and was inspired by it._

_Special thanks to __**Enaid Aderyn, icey cold, Lisakodysam, Gene Dark, Josie Lange and Nithu**__ for being not only reviewers but also cheerleaders, sounding boards and friends. Thank you __**Arisnoe de Blassenville**__ for your unflagging support throughout and giving me the idea of having Delilah become Bann of Amaranthine._

_Thank you __**all**__ so much for all the reviews, help, PMs and for hanging with a story that was never meant to be more than a few chapters of back story for the Orlesian Warden. Knowing people really cared about Leonie and the story helped tremendously when self-doubt crept in. _

_

* * *

_

**Epilogue**

**Five years later…**

Loghain bent down and scooped up a handful of dirt, bringing it up to his nose and inhaling deeply. Rich and pungent, it filtered like dark sand through his fingers as he stood and brushed his hands off. He walked the freshly ploughed and furrowed fields, reveling in the warmth of the spring sunshine. He could start the planting tomorrow. A deep feeling of satisfaction settled within him.

After a lifetime of duty, of giving everything to duty, including his happiness, he had finally rebelled. Weisshaupt's treachery was the final straw and he had gladly walked away from all of it. He hadn't the heart to continue on. His pride had even unbent enough to accept the freehold from the Teyrn of Gwaren, a piece of property that had grown in size from the early days when the first Mac Tirs had work the land. He felt sure that Anora had encouraged Bryland's generosity but Loghain was not going to ask. It was enough that he had finally been able to return to the land, to the place where his heart had always been.

Handing the leadership over to Nathaniel had been much easier than he had imagined it would be. Nathaniel and Tamra had married shortly after Nathaniel had taken up his role as Commander of the Grey of Ferelden and Arl of Amaranthine. It was fitting and just, in Loghain's opinion. Nathaniel had never been his father and he should not have to pay for his father's crimes. Loghain's laugh bordered on bitter. Had children needed to pay for their parent's crimes, Anora would not be sitting on the throne of Ferelden.

Fergus hadn't objected too strenuously at the Landsmeet when the change was announced. But then, Loghain smirked, Fergus was so busy preparing for his marriage to Anora that he hadn't had a great deal of time to object to much of anything.

The biggest surprise had come when Teagan announced his betrothal to Nemishia a few months later. Loghain had never had much use for Teagan until Teagan had stood up to Eamon and supported Alistair. Three months after Teagan's surprise announcement, Eamon had suffered a sudden illness and died. Surprisingly few had attended his memorial service. A year later Isolde had shown remarkable determination in working with the chantry to change the strict rules governing the mages. She was tenacious and devoted to the cause. It amused Loghain to hear about her fights with the chantry. He would never have thought she had it in her.

But people were full of surprises. He would never have thought Travis would settle down with a woman after losing Cerida. But he had, after two years, suddenly discovered Sigrun and the two came to visit every few months. They seemed genuinely happy and Loghain would never again begrudge people for finding happiness.

He sighed, lifting his face to the warm sun before making his way down to the banks of the creek that bordered his property. "Each bright river leads me merrily, to my home, to my heart, to the endless sea." Leonie's words, her absolute and unconditional love, had granted him a peace he had not expected to find again. Her words stayed with him always.

He remembered, as he sat by the creek, the first time he had seen her, all polished armor and haughty ice. He had been furious with her when she had torn up his orders. Surely Montsimmard would be better than serving that piece of Orlesian fluff, he'd thought. How wrong he had been. She had breezed in and managed to clear out a lifetime of unresolved grief, touching him in ways he hadn't even believed himself worthy of.

He sat down on the grass covered bank of the creek and removed two letters, creased and slightly grubby. He unfolded the first one and read it, the script neat and concise, so like Anora herself.

_Dear Father,_

_I thought you'd want to know that Celene and I have finally signed the trade agreements. Very little of the language changed from those first drafts that you worked on for Maric. _

_Stop hiding on the farm and come for a visit. _

_Anora Mac Tir Theirin Cousland _

"The Maker really does have a twisted sense of humor," Loghain muttered. He could still hear Maric's argument about why he needed to travel to Orlais to negotiate directly with Celene. No doubt Maric was laughing down at him even now.

He unfolded the second letter and closed his eyes briefly, letting the wind cool his sun warmed skin.

_Loghain,_

_The split from Weisshaupt is complete. Nevarra, Orlais and Rivain have followed suit. It appears there is still too much unrest in the Free Marches for them to decide anything. We continue to seek out others in the Tevinter Imperium but they are almost as suspicious a lot as those in the Anderfels._

_Fiona, Alistair and Karlin plan to return to Cumberland within the month. I find it strange that Fiona has not told Alistair the truth about his parentage but I respect her wishes in the matter. She is quiet and seems to be content with her role here at the Vigil. She is helpful and unfailingly kind to those here at the keep. I think she and Varel may be forming an attachment but as they're both reticent by nature, I can't be sure. If so, I'm sure that Varel will insist she tell Alistair the truth. The man is intractable. _

_Rumors from Wardens departing the Anderfels say that Weisshaupt is nearly deserted now. I would still like to go there one day and see the fortress. Leonie told me once how magnificent it was. _

_I have heard from our brothers in Orlais that Phillipe Delacroix has been made Chevalier Dirigeant. I thought that might amuse you. _

_Travis and Sigrun assure me that the land is gradually healing in the Korcari Wilds. Travis wrote that the Chasind tribes that fled during the Blight are slowly returning. The outpost at Ostagar now boasts a dozen men, half of which are Chasind. Stig remains with Sigrun and Travis and provides the outpost with all their blacksmithing needs. _

_Aura and Anders are expecting again. That makes four children and no end in sight. How do they keep up with them all? I wasn't cut out to be a father. Tamra would agree, and with Delilah's brood growing, we don't lack for nieces and nephews. _

_I have learned that you are a grandfather twice over now. How does Caden react to his sister, Rowena? Tamra and I offer our most heartfelt congratulations. _

_Please consider a visit. I know the Vigil holds unpleasant memories for you, but I think you'll find there are still plenty of good ones to be found here as well. _

_I remain your servant,_

_Nathaniel Howe  
Warden Commander, Ferelden  
_

Carefully folding the letter, Loghain slipped it back in his pocket. He didn't miss the Vigil, but he admitted there were times when he missed his friends.

A short bark of laughter snuck out at that thought. When he had been conscripted into the Wardens he had exactly one friend. His daughter. And even she was not happy with him. That he had a host of friends scattered throughout Ferelden now was a source of surprise and amusement. It was Leonie's doing. He had never been good at making friends until he had met her, witnessed the grace of her easy friendships with people. Maker she had shown him so much in so short a time. Had he been able to do the same? He couldn't believe it was so.

He cocked his head, listening. A slow smile came to rest on his lips. He stood and brushed off his breeches, walking toward the newly plowed field. There was work to do and sitting around mooning about events long over served no purpose.

"Papa! Papa! Help us! A bear is after us!" Gareth yelled, laughing and pulling his twin sister along in his wake.

"A bear? Where is this wild beast that dares threaten my family?" Loghain growled, scowling fiercely as he bent low to scoop up his son and daughter. Beryl pointed behind her, screeching and hiding her face in his shoulder.

He looked up the hill and saw Leonie, skirts held high, laughter trailing behind her, running down the hill to the fields, roaring and shouting in her best bear-like voice. She took his breath away, as beautiful and joyful as she had been the first time he had seen her laugh. She winked at Loghain as she came upon them and crept close to Beryl to roar at her. Beryl threw her head back laughing and it struck Loghain again how like Leonie his four year old daughter was.

Leonie had nearly died the night they found her cure. The taint in her blood had been different because, they theorized, she had so many generations of the taint already built up in her blood it made her essentially immune to the Calling until the blood from Svanar had mixed with hers and set off a change in the way her blood vibrated, disturbing the dormant taint. It all sounded like so much twaddle to him and as they had yet to duplicate the changed blood he continued to believe it was twaddle. Not that it mattered. What mattered was that she had survived and no longer had to worry about the taint or her Calling. Whatever they had given her that night had worked.

The laboratory at the Vigil was working on a "cure" that would work on others who didn't have her rare blood. In the meantime the Grey Wardens of Ferelden were using Avernus's Joining. Loghain had heard that other countries were using it as well. The old mage had died shortly after Leonie's cure but at least he had done some good before he died.

Loghain had nearly lost Leonie again a year later when she had the twins and Anders had warned them not to have any more children. He had given something to Leonie to prevent pregnancy and every six months Anders returned to check on her and give her more of whatever it was. Leonie had wept, not for herself, but because she had let Loghain down, she said. He had explained that as his age, a daughter two years older than his wife and two children the same age as his oldest grandchild was all he could ever have hoped for. He was happy, he told her, and would have felt that way whether they'd had children or not.

She smiled at him, pulling lightly at a braid, bringing him back to the present. "Your oldest daughter has requested we visit her at the palace, my love. We cannot keep ignoring the request, lest it become the queen's command," she teased.

"Indeed, Mistress Mac Tir. Would you have me ignore the land? I'm a farmer, not some noble fop," he huffed. Beryl tickled his skin with her laughter. He set both children down and playfully ruffled their hair. Twins they might be but Gareth looked much like his namesake.

"You two go find your grandmother and tell her we'll be along shortly," he told the twins and watched as they scampered up the hill before placing an arm around his wife's waist.

"You look –" he began and trailed off. _Beautiful. Like the day, bright and full of promise_.

"Terrible?" she supplied, looking up at him with a smile. Her hair was coming out of its braid and her face had a streak of plum jam or purple paint on it, he wasn't sure which. Her dress was rumpled from playing with their very active twins.

"Not terrible," he replied, bending to capture her lips.

"Ah, the compliments you Fereldan men heap upon your wives," she sighed dramatically.

"Would you have it any other way?" he asked and the seriousness of his tone caused her to look at him, her own expression warm.

"Absolutely not, my taciturn farmer. You are my bright river," she replied with a loving caress of fingers running along his cheek. He kissed her again, a deep and probing kiss that let her know just how _not_ terrible he found her.

"And you are my home," he replied softly.

Together they walked up the hill to their waiting family, to their heart, to their home, to the endless sea.

Fin


End file.
